T  ABBY'S 
IGHBORS 


ANNIE  TRUMBULL 
SLOSSON 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


AUNT  ABBTS 
NEIGHBORS 


AUNT  ABBTS 
NEIGHBORS 


ANNIE 
TRUMBULL 
SLO  S  S  ON 


FLEMING  HREVELL 
COMPANY 

NEW  YORK  •  CHICAGO  •  TORONTO 
1902 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


COPYRIGHT,    1902,   BY 
FLEMING   H.   REVELL   COMPANY 

Published  June,  IQO2 


CONTENTS 
I 

PAGE 

AUNr  ABBY'S  HERSELF     .     .       7 

// 
AUNT  ABBT  ON  SECTS .  .  .  27 

HI 
AUNT  ABBY'S  HEAVEN .  .  .  49 

IV 

AUNr     ABBY'S      SCRIPTURE- 
GARDEN 6s 

V 
AUNT  ABBY'S  TITHES  .  .  .  87 

VI 
AUNT  ABBY  ON  FRIENDSHIP  105 

VII 
AUNT  ABBY'S  "NEXT-DOORS"  125 

VIII 
AUNT  ABBY'S  FIRST  EASTER  143 

IX 
AUNT  ABBY'S  PASTURE  WITH 

A  ROCK  IN  IT.  161 


AUNT 

ABBY 
HERSELF 


/  AUNT 

ABET   HERSELF 


ES,  I  was  one  of  Abby 
Coles's  neighbors,  her 
that  everybody  called 
Aunt  Abby,  you  know. 
I  am  Rebecca  Owen,  and  I  lived  next 
door  to  her  a  long  spell  in  Factory- 
ville  and  when  she  moved  here  I 
followed,  some  months  afterwards, 
and  was  right  across  the  street 
from  her  house  all  the  rest  of  the 
time  till  she  went  away  from  us. 
I  mean  to  be  close  to  her,  when 
my  time  comes,  in  the  burying 
ground  there  across  the  river,  and 
I  hope  I  won't  be  very  far  away 
from  her  mansion  up  above,  in 
that  quiet,  beautiful  neighborhood 


lo     AUNT  ABET^  NEIGHBORS 

she  was  always  thinking  about  and 
often  speaking  of. 

"  I  suppose  there  's  nobody  living 
now  that  was  a  neighbor  of  hers  so 
long  as  me.  And  that's  the  princi 
pal  reason  I've  consented  to  tell  you 
about  her,  though  there's  many  and 
many  other  people  that  knew  her 
who  could  tell  it  in  better  words. 
Another  reason  is  that  I  took  down 
some  of  her  talks  and  have  them  all 
written  out  as  near  as  can  be  in  her 
own  words.  That  may  seem  sort  of 
queer  to  you,  but  it  was  this  way. 
My  father  was  a  great  hand  for 
keeping  account  of  things  ;  it  seemed 
to  come  natural  to  him.  He  kept 
lots  and  lots  of  blank  books  and 
wrote  down  what  he  called  his  rec 
ords  in  them.  He  had  one  for  the 
weather  and  could  tell  you  out  of  it 


AUNT  ABET  HERSELF         n 

just  how  the  wind  was  on  such  a 
day  ten  years  before,  whether  it  was 
wet  or  dry,  droughty  or  falling 
weather. 

"  Another  book  was  about  the 
deaths  and  births  and  marriages  in 
the  town,  and  another  about  the  crops 
and  gardens.  And  there  was  one 
about  the  people  and  their  doings 
and  sayings,  and — oh,  I  don't  know 
what  all.  And  I  kind  of  took  that 
taste  from  him  and  had  my  own  lit 
tle  books  full  of  records.  And  when 
I  came  to  know  Abby  Coles — it  was 
pretty  late  in  her  life  I  first  became 
acquainted  with  her — and  I  saw 
what  she  was  and  how  good  and 
helpful  and  appropriate  her  talks 
were,  why  I  begun  writing  them 
down. 

"  Of  course  I  didn't  let  her  know  I 


12    JUNT  JBBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

was  doing  it ;  it  might  have  made 
her  talk  a  little  stiffer,  not  so  easy 
and  plain  and  natural  if  she  felt 
somebody  was  going  to  write  it  off. 
And  she  never  set  anything  by  her 
own  talks,  not  a  mite.  She  was 
dreadful  humble,  and  I've  heard 
her  time  and  time  again  say,  '  My ! 
how  much  good  I  might  have  done 
in  this  world  if  I'd  only  had  book 
learning  and  knew  how  to  put  things 
so's  to  interest  folks,  learn  them  the 
truth,  help  them,  strengthen  them, 
chirk  them  up.  Paul  had  that,  you 
know,  but  he  said  himself  that  lots 
of  folks  didn't,  that  there  was  all 
kinds  of  gifts,  prophesying  and 
working  miracles  and  all,  but  not 
everybody  had  what  he  called  the 
gift  of  tongues  but  what  we  plain 
folks  here  call  the  "  gift  of  gab,"  the 


AUNT  ABEY  HERSELF         13 

right  kind  of  gab,  you  know.'  Hers 
was  the  right  kind,  the  blessedest 
kind  of  gab  I  tell  you.  I've  got  a 
good  memory,  just  as  father  had, 
and  after  I'd  heard  Aunt  Abby  talk 
on  these  occasions,  I'd  go  home  and 
put  it  down  on  paper  right  off,  just 
as  she  had  said  it.  And  if  I  disre- 
membered  any  part  of  it  I'd  sort  of 
lead  her  back  to  the  subject  next 
time  I  saw  her  and  that  way  I'd  re 
fresh  my  mind  and  get  so  I  could 
recollect  the  whole  thing. 

"  As  for  describing  her,  picturing 
her  out  just  as  she  was,  telling  you 
how  it  was  she  did  so  much  good, 
helped  folks  so,  and  is  remembered 
and  set  store  by  to  this  day  as  no 
body  else  I  ever  knew  was,  why 
that's  a  hard  thing  to  do,  not  pos 
sible  it  seems  to  me.  I,  for  my  part, 


i4     AUNT  ABBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

can't  begin  to  do  it  and  I  don't 
think  anybody  can.  And  yet  there 
wasn't  anything  very  wonderful  or 
surprising  about  her  looks  or  her 
ways.  She  was  sort  of  undersize,  a 
short  woman  and  kind  of  thin 
and  she  always  dressed  real  plain, 
though  as  neat  as  a  pin. 

"  When  I  knew  her  her  hair  was 
turning  gray  and  she  wore  a  cap. 
It's  queer  that  well  as  I  was  ac 
quainted  with  her  I  can't  tell  you 
what  color  her  eyes  were.  But  I  can 
see  them  at  this  very  minute  as  plain 
as  if  I  were  looking  into  them.  But 
the  look  in  them,  the  loving  want- 
ing-to-help,  feeling-with-you  look, 
why  that  just  covered  up  the  color  or 
made  you  forget  all  about  it.  I 
never  saw  such  eyes;  they  just  drew 
you  right  close  up  to  her,  softened 


AUNT  ABET  HERSELF         15 

you,  mellowed  you,  and  yet  sort  of 
gave  you  strength  and  help  too. 
But  you  can't  understand ;  you 
never  knew  Aunt  Abby  Coles. 

"  If  I  was  asked  what  was  the  most 
stand-out,  rememberable  thing  about 
her  why  I  should  say  just  what  any 
body  else  that  ever  knew  her  would 
say,  'twas  her  interest  in  her  neigh 
bors.  Now  I  don't  mean  her  spying 
on  them,  finding  out  about  their 
own  affairs,  preaching  at  them,  gos 
siping  about  them  or  anything  like 
that.  I  mean  her  real  interest  in 
them  and  all  that  happened  to  them 
in  sorrow  or  in  joy,  her  feeling  with 
them  and  for  them  and  above  all 
wanting  from  the  bottom  of  her 
heart  their  real,  best  good,  wishing 
for  it,  praying  for  it  and  doing  all 
she  could  in  her  own  quiet,  pleasant 


16     AUNT  ABBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

way  to  bring  it  about.  She  never 
meddled  or  pushed  herself  in  where 
she  wasn't  wanted.  So  she  never 
offended  folks  whatever  she  might 
talk  to  them  about.  And  yet  she 
wasn't  all  things  to  all  men  by  any 
means.  Some  folks  called  it  tact 
she  had,  but  I  don't  think  that's 
just  the  word  to  use.  It  was  her 
feeling  with  people  that  did  it  all,  not 
just  feeling  for  but  feeling  with 
them  and  so  knowing  just  what 
would  or  wouldn't  hurt  or  vex 
them.  '  It's  real  cheap  and  easy  to 
feel  for  folks,'  she  used  to  say,  '  and 
when  you've  done  that  or  thought 
you  have,  why  you  feel  comfortable 
and  set-up  and  think  you've  done 
all  that  could  be  expected  of  you. 
But  to  feel  with  your  neighbors 
that's  hard ;  it  hurts.  But  it's  the 


AUNT  AEBY  HERSELF         17 

only  way  to  help  folks,  and  as  I  look 
back  I  see  that's  why  I've  failed  so 
in  every  duty  to  my  neighbors.' 

"  She  wasn't  just  talking  for  effect 
when  she  ran  herself  down  that  way  ; 
she  really  conceited  that,  as  a  neigh 
bor  she  hadn't  been  a  success.  For 
you  see  the  pattern  she  set  up  to  try 
and  copy  was  so  dreadful  high  and 
difficult  she  felt  she  hadn't  come 
nigh  it.  As  for  her  own  life  it  was  a 
very  plain,  simple  kind  of  life.  She 
was  always  busy  but  never  fussed. 
She  moved  about  in  a  sort  of  still, 
easy  but  quick  way  and  so  got 
through  a  wonderful  lot  of  work 
without  ever  seeming  to  be  hurrying. 
And  she  always  had  time,  plenty  of 
time  for  anybody  that  needed  her, 
but  not  a  bit  of  leisure  for  idle,  gos 
siping  talk.  As  I  said  before  there 


i8     AUNT  ABBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

wasn't  anything  real  striking  or  out 
of  the  common  about  her  or  her 
ways  and  so  it's  hard  to  make  you 
see  why  it  is  that  she  and  her  quiet, 
plain,  every-day  life  stands  out  to 
every  one  of  us  that  knew  her  as 
something  set  on  a  hill  that  cannot 
be  hid,  as  a  light  that  shone  before 
men  so  that  they  can  never  forget 
how  bright  and  comforting  it  was. 

"Another  thing,  she  was  a  real 
Christian  if  ever  there  was  one,  but 
— I  hope  you  won't  misunderstand 
me — she  didn't  appear  to  pay  much 
attention  to  her  own  Christian  life. 
I  mean  she  didn't  cultivate  what's 
called  self-examination,  and  medita 
tion  on  different  subjects  at  stated 
times  as  is  recommended,  you  know, 
in  the  books.  You  see  she  hadn't 
time.  I've  heard  her  say  so  myself 


AUNT  ABET  HERSELF         19 

and  she  seemed  sorry  that  'twas  so. 
She'd  say  sometimes  that  it  must  be 
real  nice  to  shut  yourself  away  from 
everybody  and  all  their  troubles  and 
worries  and  think  of  yourself  and 
your  own  soul  and  of  Him  and  of 
heaven.  '  But  dear  me  ! '  she'd  add, 
'  that's  what  you  might  call  a 
luxury  and  I  can't  afford  it.  I 
haven't  time,  with  so  many  neigh 
bors  and  all  their  troubles  and  cares 
to  think  of.  Why,  I've  scarcely  time 
to  pray  for  myself.  I'm  most 
ashamed  to  tell  you  that  some  nights 
when  I  say  amen  and  start  to  get  up 
off  my  knees  I  recollect  I  haven't 
said  a  word  about  myself,  much  as  I 
need  His  help,  and  it  hadn't  been  a 
short  prayer,  neither.' 

"  No,  I  tell  you  her  prayers  were 
not  short  nor  few.     She  didn't  stand 


20     AUNT  ABBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

at  the  corner  of  the  streets  nor  make 
1  vain  repetitions '  as  the  Bible  says. 
But  I  couldn't  help  hearing  and  see 
ing  her,  and  though  I  didn't  listen  I 
could  hear  the  names  of  neighbor 
after  neighbor  slip  out,  and  know  the 
kind  of  things  she  was  asking.  The 
light  in  her  bedroom  window  burned 
late  most  nights  and  I  tell  you  'twas 
a  dreadful  comfort  to  look  out  at  it 
before  we  went  to  sleep  and  know 
somebody  was  asking  the  best  of 
things  for  us,  somebody  that  had  a 
good  deal  of  influence  too — though  I 
mean  to  say  that  with  reverence. 
That  was  the  thing  we  missed  most, 
I  guess,  when  that  little  light  went 
out.  It  was  dark  and  lonesome  and 
seemed  to  throw  a  big  responsibility 
on  each  one  of  us,  the  having  to 
pray  for  ourselves  more  now  that 


AUNT  ABBT  HERSELF         21 

she  wasn't  laying  our  wants  before 
the  Lord  every  day  and  night.  But 
I  think  she'll  find  some  way  to  let 
Him  know  what  we,  her  old  neigh 
bors  need. 

"  The  light  went  out  some  years 
ago.  She  died  just  as  she'd  lived, 
quietlike  and  easy.  She  took  cold 
watching  with  old  Peter  Binks,  a 
colored  man  at  the  poorhouse,  and  it 
settled  on  her  lungs.  She  was  only 
sick  a  few  days.  There  wasn't  any 
thing  remarkable  or  striking  about 
her  last  hours,  no  wonderful  death 
bed  sayings  and  affecting  last  words. 
Even  then,  when  you  might  think  she 
had  a  right  to  a  little  rest  and  think 
ing  about  herself  and  her  future,  she 
had  her  neighbors  on  her  mind  to  the 
last.  Mr.  Bates,  her  own  minister, 
- — she  was  a  Congregationalist — 


22     AUNT  ABBY'S  NEIGHBORS 

wasn't  very  well  just  then  and  she 
wouldn't  have  him  sent  for.  She 
said  Elder  Slade,  the  Baptist,  would 
come,  she  knew.  So  they  brought 
him.  But  when  he  tried  to  ask  her 
some  questions  about  her  state  of 
mind  and  whether  it  was  all  peace 
with  her  and  so  on,  in  his  kind, 
feeling  way,  she  said,  '  Please  don't 
be  mad,  Elder,  but  I've  got  so  little 
time  left,  you  may  skip  all  that.  I 
guess  it'll  be  all  right ;  if  it  isn't  it's 
my  own  fault,  and  there's  so  much 
to  do  now.'  Then  she  went  on  Avith 
her  weak,  tired  voice  which  couldn't 
much  more  than  whisper  and  that 
real  slow,  telling  him  about  this  and 
that  neighbor,  their  needs  and  their 
dangers,  yes,  to  the  very  last.  She 
spoke  about  little  Billy  Holmes's 
throat  and  how  she  hadn't  quite 


4UNT  ABBY  HERSELF         23 

finished  the  comforter  she  was  knit 
ting  for  him  to  wear  cold  days.  She 
'guessed  some  neighbor  'd  bind  it 
off  and  put  tossells  on  the  ends,  for 
she'd  promised  there  should  be  tos 
sells  and  Billy  mustn't  go  without 
his  comforter/  Poor  little  fellow, 
he  had  to  go  without  a  comforter 
when  she  had  gone  away,  but  it 
wasn't  very  long.  And  she  asked 
the  Elder  to  call  on  Joel  Fellows, 
'  not  a  past'ral  call/  she  says,  '  that 
would  scare  him  off,  but  a  neigh 
borly  visit  without  any  praying  the 
first  time.  Let  him  down  easy, 
Elder/  she  whispers, '  and  he'll  come 
out  all  right/ 

"  And  then  she  asked  him  to  re 
mind  Mr.  Bates,  her  own  minister, 
what  she'd  said  to  him  the  other 
day  about  Cap'n  Hyde,  not  for  the 


24     AUNT  ABBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

world  to  bring  in  anything  about 
falling  from  grace  or  the  persever 
ance  of  the  saints  when  they  were 
talking  together.  *  His  head's  ter 
rible  troubled  about  those  things/ 
she  says,  '  and  there's  lots  of  pleas- 
anter  and  safer  topics/  And  so  one 
after  another  she  went  over  her 
neighbors  and  their  wants  to  the  last 
breath. 

"  For  when  we  thought  she  had 
gone  forever,  the  loving  eyes  shut 
up,  and  the  pale  hands  laying  still 
on  her  breast,  all  of  a  sudden  we  saw 
her  white  lips  move  a  little  and  I 
put  my  ear  close  down  to  her  face 
and  I  heard  her  say,  '  And  Mary- 
Wells — is — real — sorry — and — '  She 
never  finished,  but  we  all  understood 
and  forgave  poor  wicked  Mary  Wells 
that  minute  for  the  sake  of  her  that 


AUNT  ABET  HERSELF         25 

asked  us  and  came  back,  I  really  be 
lieve  from  the  gate  of  heaven  itself 
to  do  it. 

"  It  was  a  simple,  quiet  funeral  as 
she  would  have  wanted  it  to  be. 
There  was  nobody  there  but  her 
neighbors,  but  every  one  in  the  vil 
lage  attended  and  many  from  other 
places.  For  we  had  all  learned  to 
use  that  word,  neighbor,  in  her  wide 
meaning,  which  after  all  is  the  Bible 
meaning  too,  though  we  mostly  for 
get  it." 


AUNT  ABBY 

ON 
SECTS 


//  AUNT 

AEEY  ON  SECTS 


ES,  I  believe  they  do  call 
me  a  mite  lax  in  religious 
matters,  —  church  mat 
ters,  I  would  say.  Only 
last  week  Miss  Butler  told  me  to 
my  face  I  was  time-serving  and  all 
things  to  all  men.  And  Deacon 
Walker — my !  he  gave  me  up  a 
long  spell  back  as  lukewarm  and 
what  he  calls  undenominational. 
That's  a  dreadful  sounding  word, — 
isn't  it? 

Well,  mebbe  I  don't  know  myself, 
but  seems  to  me  I  ain't  time-serving, 
nor  lukewarm,  nor  all  things  to  all 
men,  though  I  dare  say  I  may  be 

sort  of  the  other  thing,  undenomi- 
29 


30     AUNT  ABBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

national.  I'm  a  Congregational  my 
self, — a  "  Congo,"  as  we  call  it  about 
here,  you  know,  for  short.  But 
that's  nothing  to  my  credit  nor  my 
discredit.  I  hadn't  anything  to  say 
about  it.  My  folks  were  Congrega- 
tionals,  and  so,  as  you  might  say,  I 
was  born  one.  At  any  rate,  I  was 
raised  one  by  pa  and  ma.  Well,  as 
long  as  I  am  one,  elected  to  it,  as  you 
might  say,  I'm  going  to  be  a  good 
one, — a  strong  one.  There's  no  harm 
in  that.  But  I  am  not  going  to  think 
that  folks  of  every  other  denomi 
nation  are  deluded,  not  to  say  wicked, 
creatures.  If  that's  what  they  call 
undenominational,  why,  I'm  it. 

But  I  believe  in  sects,  or  denom 
inations,  whichever  you  may  call 
them.  The  way  we're  made,  we 
human  creatures,  they're  really  nee- 


AUNT  ABET  ON  SECTS         31 

essary,  seems  to  me.  There's  so 
many  kinds  of  us,  you  see,  with  so 
many  sorts  of  ways  and  tempers  and 
feelings  and  natures,  we've  just  got 
to  go  different  ways,  different  roads. 
But,  deary  me  !  as  long  as  all  those 
roads  bring  up  to  the  same  place  at 
the  end,  what  kind  of  matter  is  it 
which  folks  take  ?  And  it  keeps  up 
interest  to  have  these  different  so 
cieties  with  different  ways  to  them, 
each  one  of  the  company  belonging 
to  them  thinking  his  folks'  way  the 
best,  and  working  zealous  for  his 
own  sect.  I  believe  'twas  so,  way 
back  from  the  beginning,  when  the 
apostles  and  their  followers  started 
the  churches.  I  don't  conceit  that 
when  the  vision  appeared  that  time  to 
John  on  the  island,  and  sent  word  to 
the  churches  by  him,  I  don't  believe 


32     AUNT  ABBY'S  NEIGHBORS 

that  all  those  seven  societies  were 
run  just  exactly  similar.  Why,  the 
way  the  messages  read  shows  they 
were  as  different  from  each  other  as 
the  denominations  are  nowadays. 
Ephesus  church  had  its  own  way  of 
doing  things,  and  Smyrny  had  an 
other  ;  Pergamos  learnt  its  members 
one  set  of  rules,  and  Sardis  learnt 
different  ones,  and  so  through  the 
whole  seven.  But  they  were  all  un 
der  one  spiritual  head,  and  took 
their  orders  from  the  One  that  sent 
them  that  time  through  John. 

I'll  go  a  little  further,  though  this 
time  I  don't  expect  many  folks  to 
agree  with  me.  It's  my  own  idea, 
one  of  those  things  that  appear  to 
come  into  my  head  of  themselves,  as 
far  as  I  know,  and  come  to  stay.  This 
is  it.  I  sort  of  believe  there'll  be  dif- 


AUNT  ABET  ON  SECTS         33 

ferent  churches,  or  societies,  or  com 
panies,  whatever  you  may  call  them, 
up  in  heaven.  You  needn't  look  so 
scared,  that  isn't  as  bad  as  it  sounds. 
They  won't  be  run  just  as  they  are 
down  here,  and  there  won't  be  so 
much — well,  friction's  a  good  word, 
mebbe,  not  to  use  a  stronger  one. 
Somehow,  to  me  it's  a  real  comfort 
able,  nice  idea,  the  folks  of  the  dif 
ferent  organizations,  that  used  to 
hold  by  each  other,  and  love  their 
own  church  so,  with  its  own  ways, 
down  below  on  the  earth,  their  meet 
ing,  once  in  a  while,  at  any  rate,  all 
by  themselves  up  there,  and  talking 
about  the  old  days  ;  yes,  even  mebbe 
singing  some  of  the  old  hymns. 
There  are  many  mansions  up  there, 
you  know,  and  there  are  twelve  dif 
ferent  gates  to  go  in  by.  And  there 


34   AUNT:  ABBT^S  NEIGHBORS 

are  all  manner  of  different  stones  in 
the  foundation,  but  every  one  of 
them's  precious. 

So  you  see  I'm  as  denominational 
and  sectarian  as  anybody  in  the 
world.  But  I  know  what  people 
mean,  and  why  they  call  me  lax, 
and  lukewarm,  and  all,  and  I'll  tell 
you.  As  I  said  before,  I  was  born 
and  raised  a  Congregational.  Now, 
when  I  was  young,  I  really  thought 
that  was  the  only  right  and  Chris 
tian  sect,  and  all  the  others — Baptists, 
Methodists,  Episcopals,  Presbyte 
rians,  and  all — were  mistaken,  de 
ceived  beings.  You  know  how  it  is 
with  young  folks.  To  them  there's 
one  straight,  even  line  running 
along ;  one  side  of  it — that's  their 
side,  and  their  folks's — is  the  right 
side,  and  the  other — that's  other  peo- 


AUNT  ABET  ON  SECTS        35 

pie's — is  the  wrong,  and  to  them 
there's  nothing  betwixt  or  between. 
That's  the  way  with  these  young, 
unknowing  creatures  in  politics,  re 
ligion,  and  everything. 

There  was  a  little  girl  that  went 
to  school  with  me,  a  great  crony  of 
mine,  Fanny  Mary  Shaw.  Now  her 
folks  were  Baptists,  and  every  night 
when  I  said  my  prayers,  kneeling 
before  the  trundle-bed  in  Aunt 
Patty's  room,  I  used  to  put  in  a  re 
quest  about  Fanny  Mary,  and  ask 
that  she  might  be  converted,  mean 
ing  become  a  Congregational.  Poor 
little  Fanny  Mary  !  She's  been  dead 
forty  year,  and  I'd  be  satisfied  to  be 
received  into  the  same  mansion  her 
Master  prepared  for  her.  And  so 
'twas  with  other  sects  ;  I  didn't  wish 
them  any  harm,  but  I  pitied  them 


36     AUNT  ABBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

dreadfully,  and  prayed  and  hoped 
they  might  reform.  I  had  most 
hopes  for  the  Presbyterians,  hearing 
that  they  were  nearest  like  the  Con- 
gos.  But  still  I  thought  even  they 
were  running  a  terrible  risk. 

Well,  the  change  in  me  about  this 
didn't  come  all  at  once.  One  lesson 
at  a  time  was  learnt  me,  till,  before  I 
really  knew  what  was  coming,  I  had 
it  all  by  heart,  and  looked  on  each 
one  of  these  organizations  as  close 
relations  of  my  own  society,  and 
learned  to  love  them  all.  But,  as  I 
said  before  and  say  again,  I  like  my 
own  best. 

The  first  lesson  I  got  was  in  a 
hard  time,  and  'twas  one  of  the 
hardest  to  learn.  For  it  was  about 
the  Episcopals.  Now  from  the  way 
I'd  been  brought  up,  that  denomina- 


AUNT  ABBY  ON  SECTS        37 

tion  had  always  seemed  to  me  the 
most  mistaken  of  any  of  them.  Pa 
was  one  of  the  strict,  old-fashioned 
sort,  and  he  was  dreadful  set  against 
the  Episcopals.  He  thought  they 
were  all  for  forms,  and  not  much  for 
the  spirit ;  said  they  didn't  make  up 
their  own  prayers,  but  read  them 
out  of  books  ;  that  they  wore  strange, 
popish  kind  of  clothes,  and — oh !  a 
lot  of  things.  And  I'd  sort  of  taken 
it  all  in,  as  young  folks  will,  and 
never  looked  into  the  subject  myself. 
Well,  there  came  a  great  sorrow  into 
my  life ;  my  mother  lay  dying. 
'Twas  in  the  summer,  and  our  min 
ister  was  off  on  his  vacation.  So 
was  the  Baptist,  and  there  was  only 
those  two  churches  in  the  village. 
But  there  was  a  boarder  at  Mrs. 
Lamson's  that  time, — a  minister,  an 


38     AUNT  ABBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

Episcopal.  I'd  seen  him  time  and 
again  go  by  the  house  in  his  queer, 
straight-up-and-down  coat,  and  Rom 
ish-looking  vest  and  collar,  and 
every  drop  of  pa's  Protestant  blood 
in  me  had  risen  up  against  him.  To 
be  sure,  his  face  was  kind  and 
his  ways  friendly,  and  he  was  real 
pleasant  spoken.  But  he  was  one  of 
that  mistaken  denomination,  and 
looked  it,  and  I  disapproved  of  him. 
But  what  was  I  going  to  do 
now  ?  I  couldn't  let  ma  die  without 
a  minister  to  pray  with  her, — I  just 
couldn't.  Mrs.  Lamson  came  over 
to  see  me ;  she  was  a  Congo  herself, 
and  knew  just  how  I  felt.  "  But," 
says  she,  "  he's  a  real  good  man,  if  he 
is  an  Episcopal.  Mebbe  he's  only 
been  that  way  a  little  spell,  and  isn't 
a  very  strong  one  yet.  Anyway, 


4UNT  ABET  ON  SECTS        39 

he's  good ;  I  know  that  from  lots  of 
little  things,  and  he's  a  minister,  and 
there  ain't  another  one  handy." 
"  But  oh  !  "  I  says,  "  suppose  he 
should  read  a  prayer  to  her  !  Seems 
's  if  pa's  spirit  would  come  back  to 
prevent  that."  "  Mebbe  he  won't," 
says  Mrs.  Lamson.  So  I  let  her 
speak  to  him,  and  he  came  over 
right  straight  off. 

Ma  was  pretty  near  the  end, 
feeble  and  helpless  like,  and  sort  of 
drowsing  most  of  the  time.  But 
when  Mr.  Palmer — that  was  his 
name— stooped  over  her,  and  took 
hold  of  her  hand,  she  opened  her 
eyes,  and  looked  up  at  him.  And 
something  she  saw  made  her  per 
fectly  satisfied,  and  she  smiled  back 
to  him,  and  let  her  hand  lay  just 
where  it  was.  To  this  day  I  don't 


40     AUNT  ABBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

know  what  it  was  he  said  to  her, 
whether  it  was  something  out  of  his 
own  head,  or  out  of  Scripture,  or  out 
of  the  Prayer  Book  itself,  and,  what's 
more,  I  don't  care,  and  I  didn't  then. 
It  was  a  blessed  thing,  and  just  what 
ma  wanted,  and  a  real  peaceful  look 
came  over  her  thin  old  face. 

And  then  he  knelt  down,  and  I 
knelt  too,  and  he  prayed.  Seemed 
to  me  I'd  never  heard  such  a  prayer, 
for  it  asked  for  just  what  I  wanted 
for  ma,  just  what  she  wanted  herself, 
I  know,  but  asked  it  a  hundred 
times  better  than  we  could  say  it 
ourselves.  "  Did  he  read  it  out  of  a 
book?"  says  Mrs.  Lamson  a  week 
afterwards.  And  I  didn't  know ! 
When  he  finished  and  said  Amen, 
ma  said  it  too,  very  soft  and  weak. 
Then  he  leaned  over  her,  and  for  a 


AEBT  ON  SECT'S        41 


second  I  was  afraid  he'd  undo  all 
the  good  by  saying  something  po 
pish.  So  I  smoothed  ma's  white  hair 
off  of  her  forehead,  and  listened 
close.  And  oh  !  what  do  you  think 
he  was  saying  ?  He  'most  whispered 
it,  but  I  heard.  "  Now  I  lay  me 
down  to  sleep,"  he  says  ;  and  ma 
says,  so  plain  and  clear,  but  softly, 
"  I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  keep." 
And  she  turned  her  head  a  mite  on 
the  pillow,  shut  up  her  eyes,  and  fell 
asleep  like  a  little  child,  never  to 
wake  up  in  this  world.  Do  you 
think  I  didn't  feel  a  mite  different 
after  that  about  the  Episcopals  ?  But 
I  like  my  own  church  best. 

And  so  I  went  on,  learning  lesson 
after  lesson.  One  thing  I'd  had 
against  the  Baptists  was  their  in 
sisting  so  on  immersion.  It  seemed 


42    AUNT  DEBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

so  foolish.  Sprinkling  was  our  way, 
and  so  I  thought  it  must  be  the  best 
way,  the  only  way.  But  one  time, 
of  a  Sunday  noon,  I  happened  to  be 
going  by  Blue  River,  and  I  saw  a  lot 
of  people  on  the  bank.  'Twas  a  bap 
tism  going  on,  and  I  stopped  to  see 
it.  You've  seen  them,  and  I  won't 
describe  it.  But  I  tell  you  one 
thing,  it  brought  home  to  me  the 
baptizings  in  the  Bible  as  I'd  never 
had  them  brought  before.  I  could 
understand  about  going  down  into 
the  water  and  coming  up  out  of  the 
water,  and  being  baptized  in  Jordan. 
I  didn't  stand  very  nigh,  and  I 
couldn't  see  the  folks  to  know  them, 
but  I  saw  the  robes  and  the  river, 
and  heard  the  singing.  I  forgot 
where  I  was,  and  'most  thought  I 
was  seeing  John  or  Paul,  or — I'm  a 


AUNT  ABET  ON  SECTS         43 

bit  afraid  to  say  it,  but  you  know 
what  I  mean — mebbe  our  Lord  Him 
self,  baptizing  or  being  baptized. 
And  I  went  away  sorrowful,  like  the 
young  man  in  the  Bible,  for  I'd  been 
thinking  hard  thoughts  for  years  of 
that  very  thing  which  seemed  to  me 
now  so  beautiful  and  good  and  scrip 
tural.  Then,  after  that,  as  I  went 
on  associating  with  different  Bap 
tists,  ministers  and  members,  I  saw 
so  many  good  things,  true  things, 
amongst  them,  I  can't  tell  you  half. 
I  like  my  own  church  best,  though. 
Then  there  were  the  Presbyte 
rians.  I  never  saw  any  of  them  to 
know  them  till  I  was  more  than 
thirty  years  old.  There  wa'n't  many 
in  New  England,  you  know.  But  I 
went  visiting  over  to  Hallsville, 
where  the  factories  are,  and  there 


44     AUNT  ABBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

was  a  Presbyterian  church  there,  and 
I  went  with  Miss  Starr,  where  I  was 
staying.  Dear  me !  it  was  just  like 
our  own  church, — the  long  prayer, 
and  the  hymns,  and  the  doxology, 
and  the  benediction.  And  the  ser 
mon  couldn't  have  been  bettered 
even  among  the  Congos;  it  was 
sound  right  straight  through,  and 
full  of  scripture  truth.  Seems  queer 
now  that  I  should  have  been  so  sur 
prised  at  this,  but  I  was.  To  be 
sure,  I'd  heard  that  the  difference 
betwixt  them  and  the  Congregation- 
als  was  mostly  in  church  govern 
ment,  but  somehow  I'd  conceited 
that  would  show  even  in  their  meet 
ings.  I  go  to  a  Presbyterian  church 
now ;  it's  the  nighest,  you  know, 
here  in  Factoryville.  I  love  it,  and 
the  minister  is  one  of  the  best  men 


AUNT  ABET  ON  SECTS        45 

that  ever  lived.  But  don't  mistake 
my  meaning,  somehow  I  like  pa's 
and  ma's  old  church  the  best. 

And  so  with  the  Methodists.  I 
was  in  the  cars  once,  travelling  down 
to  Vermont  to  see  my  cousin.  There 
was  a  gentleman  sitting  in  front  of 
me,  and  I  saw  by  his  clothes  or  ways 
or  something  that  he  was  a  minister. 
Bimeby  we  fell  into  talk.  I'll  al 
ways  recollect  that  talk,  though  I 
couldn't  tell  you  just  how  it  went 
along.  But  it  always  seems  to  me 
that  once  in  my  life,  like  Paul,  I 
was  caught  up  into  the  third  heaven, 
and,  if  I  didn't  see  the  Master  Him 
self,  I  saw  a  man  who'd  talked  with 
Him,  and  walked  with  Him,  and 
knew  Him  as  I'd  never  known  Him. 
And  it  was  a  Methodist  preacher ! 
That's  how  I  first  came  to  think  tol- 


46     AUNT  ABBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

erant  of  them,  but  there's  been  a 
great  deal  since  to  keep  it  up.  Still, 
I'm  satisfied  with  our  form  of  wor 
ship,  and  to  me  it's  the  best  there  is. 

You  see  now  how  I  was  brought 
along,  little  by  little,  lesson  after  les 
son,  to  see  that  there's  something 
better  and  higher  than  sects  and 
creeds,  even  though  each  man  may 
like  his  own  and  his  father's  best. 
And  I  believe  those  lessons  came 
from  above  as  much  as  that  great 
sheet  did,  let  down  by  its  four  cor 
ners,  to  learn  a  similar  lesson  to 
Peter.  So  you  see  they've  got  a 
right  to  call  me  undenominational. 

There's  another  thing.  You'll 
take  notice  I  haven't  said  anything 
about  the  Catholics.  Well,  I  could  ! 
But  then  you're  a  Protestant,  and 
so  am  I,  and  we're  talking,  just 


AUNT  ABBT  ON  SECTS        47 

now,  about  Protestant  churches,  and 
haven't  gone  over  all  of  them,  either. 
And  then  I  don't  want  to  scare  you 
more'n  I  can  help.  But  I'll  just  say 
one  single  thing,  and  that's  this : 
the  very  best  and  heavenliest  man  I 
ever  saw,  to  my  notion,  the  one  that 
seemed  to  me  wouldn't  have  looked 
out  of  place  in  heaven,  even  if  you 
hadn't  altered  him  a  mite  in  soul,  or 
even  body, — his  face  was  so  shining 
with  love  to  God  and  man, — well,  that 
man  was  a  Catholic,  and  a  bishop. 

But  that's  neither  here  nor  there. 
We're  talking  to-day  about  Protes 
tants.  I'm  glad  I'm  one,  and  just  as 
glad  that  I'm  a  good,  strong  High 
Church  Congregational.  But  I  do 
hope  I've  passed  from  death  unto 
life  because,  anyway,  I  love  the 
brethren. 


AUNT 

ABBY'S 
HEAVEN 


///  AUNT 

ABBT'S  HEAVEN 


F  course,  I  know  well 
enough,  that  folks  in  this 
world  haven't  got  any 
right  idee  what  heaven 
really  is ;  it  ain't  in  the  natur'  of 
things  they  can  have.  Scriptur' 
says  right  out  plain  that  it  hasn't 
entered  into  the  heart  of  man  to 
conceive  what's  up  there.  But  see 
ing  as  you  and  me  have  talked 
over  a  good  many  things  together, 
I'm  going  to  tell  you  what  I  don't 
generally  talk  to  folks  about.  I 
found  out  a  long  time  ago  that, 
however  it  might  be  with  other 
people,  as  for  me  myself,  I'd  got  so 

much  of  this  world  about  me — the 
51 


52     AUNT  ABBY'S  NEIGHBORS 

dust  of  the  earth,  as  you  might  say, 
that  I  was  made  out  of, — that  I'd 
got,  for  a  spell,  to  think  about 
heaven  and  its  doings  in  a  kind  of 
this-world  way.  I  was  so  earthly 
myself  that  was  the  only  way  I 
could  make  it  seem  real  and  satis 
fying,  and  what  I  wanted  for  myself 
and  my  folks.  So  I  took  to  sort  of 
making-believe,  "  playing,"  as  the 
children  say,  that  this  or  that  plain, 
homey,  folksy  thing  was  what  they 
did  up  there.  I  knew  all  the  time 
that  it  was  making-believe,  and  that 
it  wasn't  a  mite  like  the  real  heaven 
being  prepared  for  them  that  love 
Him,  and  better  than  anything  we 
can  make  up  or  guess  about.  But  to 
me,  just  a  poor,  simple,  country 
woman,  my  way  seemed  a  help,  and 
was  a  dreadful  comfort  anyway.  I 


AUNT  ABBY'S  HEAVEN        53 

didn't  hold  up  these  views  of  mine 
to  other  folks  as  a  general  thing.  I 
was  afraid  of  doing  harm  rather  than 
good,  for  it's  a  ticklish  matter  to 
meddle  with  people's  religious  idees. 
But  a  few  times,  when  the  folks 
was  just  simple  souls  like  me  myself, 
and  I  see  they  needed  a  little  help  in 
some  hard  fight  or  dreadful  sorrow, 
why,  I've  given  them  a  kind  of  hint 
at  what  might  be  going  on  there — I 
was  careful  never  to  say  it  really  was 
— and  seems's  if  somehow  it  most 
always  helped  'em,  for  the  time  any 
way. 

Seems  to  me  the  first  time  I  be 
gun  to  do  this  way  was  when  my 
brothers,  Elam  and  Horace,  was 
drowned.  Pa  and  ma'd  died  before 
that,  about  a  year  apart,  and  these 
boys  was  almost  everything  I  had  to 


54     AUNT  AEET'S  NEIGHBORS 

love  in  the  whole  world.  They  went 
off  one  morning,  laughing  and  whist 
ling,  full  of  their  fun,  and  they  was 
fetched  back  at  sundown  cold  and 
stiff  and  still  and  dead.  My  heart 
'most  broke.  I  couldn't  get  a  mite 
of  comfort  all  I  could  do.  I  was  a 
professor,  and  I  tried  to  be  resigned 
and  to  think  of  the  boys  in  heaven 
and  happy.  They  was  good  boys, 
members  of  the  church,  and  I  felt 
certain  sure  they  was  safe.  And  the 
minister,  Elder  Leet,  kept  telling  me 
that  I  must  think  of  them  dwelling 
in  glory  and  chanting  the  praises  of 
Jehovah.  I  couldn't,  I  tell  you,  I 
couldn't  just  then.  They  was  great, 
rugged,  red-cheeked  young  fellers, 
full  of  mischief  and  play,  though  not 
a  bit  of  harm  in  'em,  and  just  at  first 
I  didn't  even  want  to  pictur'  'em  all 


AUNT  ABBT'S  HEAVEN       55 

changed  and  solemn,  and  so  dreadful 
good.  Oh  !  you  understand, — don't 
you?  I  was  sick  with  sorrow  and 
all  broke  down,  so  that  I  couldn't 
just  at  once  think  the  right  thing, 
and  trust  my  boys  to  Him  that 
knew  what  was  the  very  best  for 
'em. 

I  was  sitting  by  the  window  the 
afternoon  they  was  buried.  The 
funeral  was  over,  and  the  folks  had 
gone  away,  and  I  was  all  alone  in 
that  still,  dreadful,  empty  house.  I 
looked  out  at  the  sky,  all  pinky  and 
gilt-like  after  the  sun  going  down, 
and  I  thinks  to  myself,  "  Oh !  what 
are  my  boys  doing  now  ?  If  I  only 
knew  just  what  sort  of  a  place  they're 
in,  I  could  bear  it  better."  I  was  all 
wore  out  with  crying  and  sorrowing, 
and  mebbe  I  dozed  a  mite.  Any- 


56     AUNT  ABBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

way,  all  of  a  sudden,  I  seemed  to  see 
heaven.  'Twas  just  like  a  real  home 
down  here,  only  big  and  light  and 
shining.  There  was  a  window — 
likely's  not  many  windows,  but  I 
only  took  notice  of  one,  for  my  old 
father  was  sitting  at  it  and  looking 
out.  And  just  behind  him  my 
mother  was  sitting.  And  while  I 
was  looking  at  'em,  I  see  pa  start  a 
little,  and  lean  out  as  if  he  thought 
he  see  something,  and  then  his  face 
all  brightened  up  and  his  eyes  looked 
shining,  and  he  turns  'round  and 
cries  out,  his  voice  a-shaking  a  little, 
"  Ma,"  he  calls,  "  who  do  you  think's 
a-coming  up  the  street?  Why,  the 
boys,  the  boys,  both  on  'em,  Elam 
and  Horace !  I  see  'em,  I  see  'em, 
there  they  be ;  they'll  be  here  in  a 
minute."  To  my  dying  day  I'll 


4UNT  JBBT'S  HEAVEN       57 

never  forget  how  those  old  faces 
looked  just  for  the  little  minute  I 
was  let  to  see  'em.  For  'twas  over 
dreadful  quick.  But  it  left  some 
thing  that's  never  got  over  yet,  and 
has  helped  me  more'n  I  can  tell  you. 
I  knew  in  my  own  mind  'twas  only 
a  kind  o'  dream,  but  I  knew  'twould 
come  true  in  one  sense,  and  there'd 
be  something  up  there  just  as  good 
and  homey,  and  more  so  too.  So  I 
went  on  dreaming  that  way  when 
ever  I  needed  it. 

When  I  lost  my  little  boy,  the 
only  child  I  ever  had,  little  Danny, 
it  most  killed  me.  I  won't  trouble 
you,  though,  with  that,  except  one 
part.  The  thing  that  worried  me 
and  most  broke  my  heart  was  to 
think  that  I  never  should  have  him 
again  as  he  was  when  I  see  him  last, 


58     AUNT  ABBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

— a  little  yellow-haired  feller  going 
on  two.  The  minister  and  every 
body  told  me  he  would  be  watching 
for  me  up  there,  and  that  he  would 
be  the  one  to  learn  me  all  the 
wonderful  things  they'd  learnt  him 
there ;  told  me  that  "  he  knew 
a'ready,"  as  Elder  Leet  said,  "  a 
thousand  times  more  than  I  could 
ever  know  here  below."  They 
thought  that  would  comfort  me, 
but  it  didn't.  I  thought  I  should 
die,  I  wanted  him  to  be  a  baby  so,  to 
hold  me  tight,  and  be  afraid  with 
out  me.  And  yet  somehow  I  wanted 
him  to  grow  up  too,  and  not  be  a 
stunted  little  thing,  forever'n  ever  a 
little  baby  boy  going  on  two.  I  see 
I  must  make  believe  again,  and  I 
always  think  some  one  helped  me. 
For  I  saw  myself  dying  and  going  up 


AUNT  ABBT'S  HEAVEN        59 

there,  and  the  very  first  one  to  come 
and  meet  me  was  Danny.  He  wasn't 
growed  up  at  all,  but  the  same  little 
curly-headed  feller  I'd  buried,  just 
going  on  two.  He  stumbled  along 
with  the  very  little  steps  I'd  learnt 
him  myself  and  loved  so,  and  he 
stammered  out  the  very  same  cun 
ning  little  words  I'd  worked  so  to 
learn  him.  And  while  I  was  hold 
ing  him  tight  and  babying  him  as  I 
used  to,  he  seemed  to  grow  bigger 
and  older,  and  he  went  on,  I  don't 
know  how  fast  or  how  slow,  but  I 
see  him  go  on  and  on  till  a  big  boy 
and  a  bigger,  a  lad,  and  a  youth,  and 
— a  man.  Just  as  any  mother  here 
might  see  her  boy  grow  up,  only 
without  any  worry  or  sorrow,  scold 
ing  or  punishing  or  mourning  over. 
'Twas  a  dreadful  comfort,  the  ma- 


60     AVNr  DEBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

king-believe    about   that,    and    I've 
never  stopped  playing  it  was  true. 

Old  Uncle  Ezry  Bouton  was  a 
real  good  old  man,  you  know,  but 
kind  o'  queer.  Folks  laughed  at 
him,  and  hardly  anybody  under 
stood  him  or  made  allowances.  He 
thought  he  was  a  poet,  and  he 
wa'n't.  But,  dear  me !  that  ain't 
uncommon.  He  used  to  make  up 
verses,  and  go  'round  reading  'em  to 
folks  till  they  was  tired  to  death. 
And  once  he  wrote  a  hymn,  and  set 
it  to  a  tune  he  composed  himself. 
'Twa'n't  a  very  original  tune ;  'twas 
a  little  like  "  Dennis,"  and  a  mite 
like  "  Naomi,"  and  made  you  think 
of  "  Marty n,"  in  some  parts.  And 
the  words  wasn't  so  great.  But  he 
was  real  proud  of  it.  He  was  a 
Christian,  if  I  ever  see  one,  and  I 


AUNT  ABBT'S  HEAVEN        61 

really  believe  most  of  his  pride 
was  on  account  of  his  thinking 
he  had  got  a  real  part  of  his  own 
in  praising  the  Lord.  But  folks 
laughed  at  it.  I  know  part  of  it 
run  this  way : 

44  And  all  the  angels  flock  around 
To  hear  the  joyful,  pious  sound," 

and  the  tune  he  called  "  Wethers- 
field,"  after  his  native  town.  He 
tried  to  get  the  choir  to  sing  it,  but 
they  wouldn't.  He  went  to  Miss 
West,  that  give  music  lessons,  and 
asked  her  to  try  it  over  for  him,  but 
she  put  him  off.  One  day  he  died, 
and  he  'hadn't  ever  heard  his  own 
hymn  sung.  I  was  thinking  about 
that  when  I  heard  he'd  gone,  and  all 
of  a  sudden  I  see  one  of  my  made-up 
pictures.  Uncle  Kzry  was  coming 


62     AUNT  ABBY'S  NEIGHBORS 

into  his  heavenly  home.  The  light 
and  the  whiteness,  and,  more'n  all, 
the  music,  sort  of  blinded  him,  and 
took  his  breath  away.  He'd  never 
dreamt  of  anything  like  it,  and  he 
stopped  and  trembled,  and  was 
terrible  scaret.  All  of  a  sudden  the 
music  hushed  down  a  minute,  and 
there  seemed  to  be  a  kind  of  sign 
give  to  the  angels — I  never  dast  to 
think  who  give  it — and  they  struck 
up  singing  real  soft  and  nice, 

"  And  all  the  angels  flock  around 
To  hear  the  joyful,  pious  sound." 

Twas  Uncle  Ezry's  own  hymn,  and 
they  were  singing  it  to  "  Wethers- 
field."  Seems's  if  I  couldn't  have 
made  up  out  of  my  own  head  the 
look  I  seemed  to  see  on  Uncle  Ezry's 
face  then, — so  dreadful  surprised, 


AUNT  ABBT'S  HEAVEN        63 

sort  of  bashful  and  ashamed,  but  oh, 
so  terrible,  terrible  happy  ! 

When  the  greatest  sorrow  of  all 
my  life  came  to  me,  and  I  buried 
my  husband,  there  was  one  thing 
kept  coming  up  to  me.  Twas  that 
verse  in  scripture  about  there  not 
being  any  marrying  or  giving  in 
marriage  up  there.  To  think  of 
Thomas's  not  being  my  husband  up 
there,  and  that  I  couldn't  be  to  him 
more  than  anybody  else,  why,  I 
couldn't  bear  it !  Then  one  of  my 
made-up  pictures  come  right  up  be 
fore  me,  and  I  could  see  myself 
coming  into  that  home  up  there,  and 
Thomas  a-meeting  me.  And  as  we 
stood  together  a  spell  afterwards, 
waiting,  and  me  thinking  whether 
we  were  going  to  be  parted  and  sent 
to  different  mansions,  some  one 


64     AUNT  ABBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

come  by — again  I  didn't  dast  to 
think  who  'twas — and  I  heard  a 
voice  say,  "  Why,  here's  Thomas  and 
Abby  together  again.  Well,  let 
them  stay  close  by  each  other, 
they'll  be  happier  that  way."  And 
I  was  satisfied. 

I'm  only  telling  you  two  or  three 
of  my  make-believes.  There've  been 
hundreds  more.  Of  course,  they 
don't  take  the  place  o'  the  greatest 
hopes,  the  things  we  lot  on  most  in 
looking  ahead  to  that  place, — I  mean 
our  Father's  being  there,  and  our 
Master  always  with  them  He's  saved. 
But  sometimes  they  help  me  to 
realize  even  those  greatest  things, 
for,  as  I  said  before,  I'm  an  unlearnt, 
simple,  country  woman,  and  you 
can  see  for  yourself  I'm  dreadful 
earthy. 


AUNT 

ABBY'S 
SCRIPTURE 
GARDE 


IV  AUNT  ABETS 

SCRIPTURE-GARDEN 

OU   see  it  was  this  way. 
When  I  lived  in  Bartly 
I  was  dreadfully  worked 
up    about    the    children 
next  door. 

Some  folks  don't  appear  to  worry 
about  such  things  so  long  as  they 
don't  have  any  particular  responsi 
bility.  But  somehow  I  do  feel  re 
sponsible  in  a  sort  of  way,  and  when 
ever  I  say  those  words  "children 
next  door,"  or  "  folks  next  door," 
seems  as  if  I  was  owning  that  it  was 
the  next  or  nighest  duty  to  take  up, 
the  having  an  eye  to  them  and  their 
best  good.  If  those  young  ones  next 

to  me  in  Bartly  had  had  a  mother 
67 


68     AUNT  ABBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

it  would  have  been  different.  But 
they  hadn't,  and  their  pa  didn't 
trouble  himself  much  about  them, 
and  they  were  left  to  grow  up  by 
themselves  without  much  of  what  I 
called  the  right  sort  of  learning. 
They  didn't  go  to  any  church,  they 
nor  their  pa.  He  wasn't  a  bad  man  ; 
he  was  sober  and  hard  working,  but 
not  religious.  There  were  four  chil 
dren,  two  boys  and  two  girls,  run 
ning  from  six,  up  to  thirteen  year 
old,  Janey,  Martha,  Nathan  and  Seth. 
They  were  real  nice  children,  pleas 
ant  to  each  other,  polite  to  folks, 
willing  and  busy  and  smart.  But  I 
could  see  they  wa'n't  getting  the 
good  they  ought  to  get  out  of  their 
lives,  nor  the  happiness  neither. 
For  one  thing  they  didn't  know  any 
thing  about  the  Bible,  hadn't  ever 


AUNT  ABEY'S  GARDEN        69 

read  it  or  heard  it  read,  nor  had  the 
good  old  stories  told  to  them  most  of 
us  recollect  best,  told  in  kind  of  easy 
but  solemn  words  in  our  mother's,  or 
mebbe  our  father's,  voice,  when  we 
were  mites  of  young  ones.  That 
seemed  a  dreadful  pity.  I'd  part 
with  anything  sooner  than  that  re 
membering,  now  that  those  voices  of 
pa's  and  ma's  have  been  still  such  a 
long,  long  spell. 

I  got  to  knowing  the  children 
pretty  quick.  I'm  fond  of  young 
ones  and  they're  good  for  me.  I 
didn't  want  to  scare  them  just  at  first 
by  preaching,  or  anything  that  ap 
peared  like  it.  But  after  a  spell, 
when  we'd  got  to  be  real  friends  and 
playfellows  like,  I  begun  to  think 
what  I  could  do.  In  the  first  place, 
I  saw  right  off  that  I  must  put  their 


70     AUNT  ABBY'S  NEIGHBORS 

going  to  Sabbath-school  out  of  the 
question.  Their  father  wouldn't 
have  it.  He  wasn't  exactly  an  un 
believer,  but  he'd  had  some  things 
happen  that  gave  him  a  feeling 
against  churches,  both  ministers  and 
members.  I  hoped  that  would  wear 
off  some  day,  but  meantime  what 
was  I  going  to  do  with  those  chil 
dren?  I  tried  reading  the  Bible 
to  them,  telling  them  about  it, 
and  trying  to  make  them  read  it, 
but  somehow  for  the  life  of  me  I 
couldn't  interest  them.  They  liked 
other  kinds  of  stories  and  games, 
but  they  seemed  to  have  some  of 
their  father's  feeling  about  the  scrip 
ture  ;  't  any  rate,  it  didn't  interest 
them  a  mite. 

Well,  thinking  it  over  one  day,  I 
said  to  myself,  "  What  does  interest 


AUNT  ABBT'S  GARDEN        7i 

them,  then?  "     And  the  answer  came 
in  a  jiffy,  "  Why,  posies." 

That  was  nothing  but  the  truth. 
For  some  reason  or  other  every  one 
of  those  young  ones  set  everything 
by  posies.  Seems  their  ma'd  been 
that  way,  too.  Mebbe  they'd  copied 
it  from  her,  seein'  how  much  she 
liked  such  things,  or  perhaps  it  was 
born  in  them,  and  they  took  after 
her  by  nature.  Any  way  they  liked 
all  growing  things,  plants  and  trees, 
posies  and  herbs.  They'd  always 
take  notice  of  them,  bring  them  in 
from  the  woods,  plant  them  in  their 
yards  or  in  boxes  or  tin  cans  in  the 
house,  talk  about  them  and  ask  their 
names.  But  how  was  this  liking  of 
theirs  going  to  help  me  learn  them 
the  good  there  was  in  the  Bible? 
Just  telling  them  that  God  made  the 


72     AUNT  JBBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

plants  and  trees  and  took  care  of 
them,  and  that  they  could  read  all 
about  Him  and  His  ways  in  scrip 
ture,  why,  that's  sound  doctrine,  but 
somehow  I  felt  it  wouldn't  work 
with  that  family  just  at  first.  I 
must  begin  careful,  or  they'd  think 
I  was  preaching. 

It  took  me  quite  a  time  to  think 
it  out,  and  when  I  began  I  didn't 
really  know  exactly  how  it  would 
work  and  how  far  I  could  carry  it. 
I  don't  recollect  now  exactly  how  I 
put  it  to  the  children  first-off,  but  I 
proposed  somehow  at  last  that  we 
should  start  a  scripture-garden.  The 
name  struck  them.  Children  like 
queer,  uncommon  names,  and  they 
wanted  to  know  right  off  what  that 
was.  I  told  them  that  there  was 
lots  in  the  Bible  about  plants  and 


AUNT  AERY'S  GARDEN        73 

such  things,  and  it  would  be  real 
nice  to  see  how  many  of  the  posies 
that  book  told  about  we  could  find 
and  set  out.  They  were  interested 
right  away.  Young  ones  all  like  to 
collect,  if  it's  buttons  or  stamps  or 
horse-chestnuts,  and  they  were  in  a 
hurry  to  begin.  We  marked  off  a 
corner  of  the  yard,  and  the  children 
put  up  a  sign,  a  stick  with  a  board  on 
it  and  the  name — Janey  printed  it — 
Scripture-Garden. 

They  didn't  have  any  Bibles  of 
their  own,  and  I  told  them  they 
could  come  over  and  use  my  big- 
print  one,  at  first,  anyway.  I  had 
thought  up  a  few  plants  to  start  with 
till  they  should  get  interested  enough 
to  hunt  for  themselves. 

We  begun  with  lilies,  for  I  told 
the  children  it  seemed  as  if  there 


74    AUNT  ABET' 8  NEIGHBORS 

was  more  about  those  flowers  than 
any  other  kind.  I  read  to  them 
about  building  the  temple,  and  the 
lily-work  put  onto  the  pillars  and 
the  porch  and  round  the  edge  of  the 
molten  sea.  And  I  let  them  look  up, 
helpin'  them  a  little,  of  course, 
verses  like  "  Israel  shall  grow  as  the 
lily,"  and  "  feeding  among  the  lilies." 
Then  I  begun  to  repeat  "  as  the  lily 
among  thorns,"  and  Martha  struck 
right  in  with,  "  That's  another  plant ; 
we  must  have  some  thorns."  I 
praised  her  a  mite  for  thinking  of 
that,  but  I  said  we  must  keep  to 
lilies  now.  And  then  I  told  them 
about  that  beautiful  verse,  "  Consider 
the  lilies,  how  they  grow."  And 
when  I'd  spoken  of  that,  why,  it 
came  in  natural  you  see,  to  tell  them 
a  little  about  who  said  it.  Not  too 


AUNT  AEBT'S  GARDEN        75 

much,  just  at  first,  for  fear  they'd 
think  I  was  preaching,  but  it  was  a 
beginning,  you  see.  Then  we  talked 
about  what  kind  of  lilies  we'd  have. 
I  had  a  root  of  yellow  day-lilies  at 
the  corner  of  the  house,  and  I  let 
them  dig  it  up  and  set  it  out  in  their 
own  garden.  Miss  Susan  Bowles  let 
us  have  some  white  ones,  and  I  told 
them  that  the  next  time  I  went  over 
to  the  north  district  I'd  buy  some 
tiger-lilies  from  some  of  the  folks 
there  that  had  plenty.  I  said  that, 
though  I  didn't  really  know  whether 
they  had  just  that  specie  of  lily  in 
Bible  times,  it  always  seemed  to  me 
they  were  something  the  sort  our 
Lord  was  thinking  of  when  He  said 
that  King  "  Solomon  in  all  his  glory 
was  not  arrayed  like  one  of  these." 
They're  so  kind  of  gay  and  showy 


76     AUNT  ABBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

and  striking  with  their  bright  red 
flowers  all  spotty  with  brown.  Then 
Seth  surprised  me  by  speaking  up 
and  saying,  "  Why,  Aunt  Abby,  it 
says  '  the  lilies  of  the  field?  and  tiger- 
lilies  grow  in  gardens.  But  I  know 
a  kind  that's  wild  and  grows  all  them 
selves  in  the  fields  and  the  meadows, 
and  they're  gayer  and  strikin'er  than 
tiger  ones,  I  think." 

To  be  sure !  I  hadn't  thought  of 
those  wild  ones,  and  I  told  the  chil 
dren  they  could  go  down  the  next 
day,  and  dig  up,  careful,  some  of  the 
roots,  and  put  them  in  the  lily  part 
of  their  garden,  so  they'd  bloom  that 
very  summer,  for  'twas  May  when 
we  started  the  scripture-garden. 
Then  I  told  them  about  a  pretty 
hymn  we  used  to  sing  at  Sabbath 
school  to  a  real  nice  tune : 


AUNT  ABBT'S  GARDEN        77 

"  By  cool  Si  loam's  shady  rill 
How  fair  the  lily  grows  ! 
How  sweet  the  breath,  beneath  the  hill, 
Of  Sharon's  dewy  rose  ! " 

And  all  together  cried  out,  "  Rose ! 
There's  another  flower.  Is  it  in  the 
Bible,  Aunt  Abby  ?  "  I  remembered 
"  I  am  the  rose  of  Sharon,"  and  after 
a  spell  I  thought  of  a  verse  about  the 
desert  "  blossoming  like  the  rose." 
It  was  easy  enough  to  fix  the  rose 
part  of  the  garden,  for  there  was  a 
clump  of  cinnamon  roses  right  there 
at  one  end  of  the  patch  of  ground 
I'd  given  them. 

By  this  time  the  children  had  got 
so  interested  they  couldn't  wait  for 
me  to  look  up  plants  in  the  Bible, 
but  they'd  spend  hours,  snuggling 
close  together  over  the  big  book  on 
the  table,  their  heads  almost  touch 
ing,  they  crowded  so  close.  And 


78     AUNT  ABBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

they  found  so  many  things  !  I  can't 
recollect  them  all  myself  just  now. 
They  had  mint,  I  know,  with  its 
soft,  fuzzy  leaves  and  purply  blooms, 
sweet  smelling  and  spicy.  They  got 
leave  to  widen  their  garden  a  mite 
so's  to  take  in  my  old  apple-tree. 
They  said  they  found  lots  about 
apples  in  the  Bible  and  they  must 
have  one.  They  found  briers  talked 
about,  too,  so  they  brought  home 
a  sweetbrier  with  its  pretty  pink 
flowers,  from  over  by  the  pond. 

By  and  by,  as  the  scripture  plants 
almost  ran  out,  and  it  was  harder 
work  finding  verses  about  them, 
there  was  a  great  time  looking  for 
more  Bibles,  so  they  could  each  have 
one  to  use.  Then  I  sent  and  bought 
four  nice  ones,  and  gave  each  child 
one  of  his  own.  How  tickled  they 


AVNr  ABBY'S  GARDEN        79 

were !  They  took  them  home,  and 
I  suppose  they  were  always  a  hunt 
ing,  and  searching,  and  talking 
about  the  plants  and  their  garden, 
for  one  day  they  came  trooping  in  at 
my  gate,  so  excited  and  pleased, 
bringing  a  little  bush,  roots  and  all. 
It  had  little  bits  of  pink  double 
flowers  like  teenty  roses  all  over  it, 
and  I  saw  it  was  a  flowering-almond. 
"  Pa  give  it  to  us,"  they  called  out, 
all  at  once.  "  He  found  about  it  in 
the  Bible  last  night  after  we'd  gone 
to  bed,  where  it  says  '  the  almond- 
tree  shall  flourish.'  So  he  went  up 
to  General  Billings's  before  breakfast 
to  ask  for  this  one,  and  fetched  it 
home  to  surprise  us." 

Now  I  don't  believe  myself  that's 
the  kind  of  almond  the  Bible  means. 
I  guess  that  sort  has  the  nuts  we  eat 


8o     AUNT  ABBY'S  NEIGHBORS 

with  raisins  after  the  pies  on  Thanks 
giving  days.  But  you  may  be  sure 
I  didn't  say  so,  nor  discourage  that 
man  in  his  first  experiment  with 
scripture-gardening.  So  they  set  out 
their  pretty  little  bush,  and  that 
day  they  found  a  lot  more  verses 
about  almond-trees  and  almonds. 
They  had  a  grape-vine  running  over 
the  fence  between  their  corner  and 
the  road,  and  they  could  say  off  ever 
so  many  passages  about  vines  and 
grapes,  and  the  blood  of  grapes. 
They  had  a  little  border  of  soft  green 
grass  all  around  their  garden.  "  For 
you  know,  Aunt  Abby,"  said  Nathan, 
"  there's  most  as  much  about  grass 
in  the  Bible  as  there  is  about  grapes 
and  lilies."  One  day  Martha  came 
in,  her  hands  scratched  and  bleeding, 
holding  a  big  field  thistle  with  its 


AUNT  ABBY'S  GARDEN        81 

pricky  leaves  and  stem,  and  purple 
flowers.  She  said  she  had  found 
three  verses  about  thistles.  She  was 
a  mite  hurt  and  disappointed  when 
I  told  her  she  better  not  plant  one, 
for  it  would  send  its  seed  all  over 
the  place  and  bring  up  lots  of  pricky, 
hurting  weeds  to  trouble  the  neigh 
bors  as  well  as  ourselves.  But  Seth 
— dear  little  Sethy,  even  then,  before 
he  went  away  from  us,  I  thought 
him  the  best,  the  thoughtfulest  of 
them  all — Seth  chirked  her  up  by 
giving  her  a  slip  of  myrtle  with  its 
dark  green  leaves  and  blue  flowers. 
I  had  given  it  to  him  from  my 
myrtle  bed,  where  it  ran  all  about 
and  grew  so  thick.  And  we  had 
read  the  verses  about  "  I  will  plant 
in  the  wilderness  the  myrtle,"  and 
"  Instead  of  the  thorn  shall  come  up 


82     AUNT  ABBY'S  NEIGHBORS 

the  myrtle-tree."  He  set  everything 
by  that  vine,  but  he  gave  it  up, 
cheerful,  to  Martha,  and  she  was 
dreadful  pleased. 

Well,  before  that  summer  was  over 
I  had  done  what  I'd  hoped  to  do, 
and  a  good  deal  more.  Those  chil 
dren  had  all  got  some  idea  of  what 
the  Bible  was  and  how  much  there 
was  in  it.  When  they  were  looking 
up  the  plants  they'd  come  upon 
other  things,  and  stop  to  read  about 
them,  and  I'd  often  hear  them  talk 
ing  among  themselves  about  the 
Bible  stories  and  about  those  best 
things  I  wanted  them  to  think  of 
and  know.  Their  pa  he  took  an  in 
terest,  too,  seeing  them  so  full  of  it, 
and  he  studied  up  nights  sometimes 
to  give  them  a  surprise,  and  was  so 
set  up  when  he  could  find  something 


AUNT  ABBT'S  GARDEN        83 

they  hadn't  noticed.  'Course  I  don't 
mean  to  say  that  it  made  a  full 
grown  Christian  all  at  once  out  of 
him  or  the  children  either,  but  it 
gave  them  the  first  start  in  the  right 
way,  and  that's  a  big  thing.  As  I 
said  before,  Sethy  was  the  best,  the 
thoughtfulest  of  all  the  four.  He 
was  the  most  interested  in  the 
scripture-garden,  so  in  earnest  in 
finding  out  the  plants  and  learning 
all  about  them.  But  it  worried  him 
dreadfully,  there  being  so  many 
talked  about  in  the  Bible  that  he 
couldn't  get  for  his  garden  and  no 
body  else  could.  He  was  set  on 
having  a  pomegranate-tree,  and  he 
wanted  aloes  and  cassia  and  olives 
and  figs,  trees  and  plants  that  can't 
be  got  in  this  part  of  the  world  any 
wheres.  Once  he  ran  in  and  asked 


84     AUNT  ABBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

me,  in  his  queer  little  old-fashioned 
way,  if  I  thought  he  could  get  an 
almug-tree  over  at  Sheldon — that 
was  the  biggest  town  near  us.  I 
didn't  even  know  there  was  such  a 
thing,  and  I  thought  mebbe  he  was 
trying  to  say  almond.  But  he  said 
it  over  again  and  spelt  the  name, 
and  told  me  they  were  real  common 
in  Ophir,  for  the  Bible  said  the  ships 
brought  in  a  "  great  plenty  "  of  them 
from  there.  But  most  of  all  Sethy 
wanted  palms.  He  liked  the  story 
of  the  people  throwing  palm 
branches  down  before  Jesus  when 
He  was  coming  to  Jerusalem,  and  he 
was  always  wishing  he'd  been  there 
to  throw  just  one.  And  he  knew 
about  Deborah's  palm  and  the  place 
that  was  called  the  city  of  palm- 
trees,  and — oh,  how  much  that  boy 


AUNT  ABBT'S  GARDEN        85 

could  tell  you  about  palms  and  what 
was  said  about  them  in  the  good 
book.  "I'd  like  to  go  to  Elim, 
wouldn't  you,  Aunt  Abby  ?  "  he  said 
one  time.  "  What  for  ? "  I  says. 
"  Why, — don't  you  remember  ? — 
there  were  seventy  palm-trees  there. 
Just  think  of  it,  seventy  whole  ones, 
and  I've  never  seen  one." 

Somehow,  of  all  the  four  children, 
he  was  the  one  that  seemed  to  learn 
the  real  inside  meaning  of  what  he 
found  in  the  Bible  and  to  take  it 
right  into  his  little  heart.  And  he 
was  the  one  to  leave  us.  Before 
the  scripture-garden  was  dry  and 
shrivelled,  the  lilies  of  the  field,  the 
rose  of  Sharon,  the  almond-tree  that 
flourished,  the  grass  that  God  had  so 
clothed  with  green  and  softness,  be 
fore  all  these  had  gone  to  sleep  for 


86     AUNT  DEBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

the  winter,  little  Seth  had  left  us  all. 
Just  a  few  days  of  fever  and  aching, 
a  few  sort  of  wandering  words,  most 
of  them  about  his  garden  and  the 
lilies  and  Him  that  loved  and  talked 
about  them ;  then  just  at  the  last  a 
little  low,  stammering  whisper  we 
couldn't  quite  catch  except  that 
'twas  about  palms  and  throwing 
them  down  before  Somebody,  and 
the  little  boy  was  at  rest. 

And  I  was  dreadful  glad  to  think 
he'd  had  that  scripture-garden  with 
all  it  learnt  him.  I  knew  he'd  never 
miss  it  where  he'd  gone.  To  the 
rest  of  us  that  little  posy  patch  meant 
more  than  ever  now,  as  it  faded  away 
with  the  fall  and  winter  and  grew  dry 
and  brown  and  dead  looking.  The 
children  wondered  if  it  would  wake 
up  in  the  spring.  I  knew  it  would. 


AUNT  •» 

ABBY'S 
TITHES 


V 

ABBT'S  TirHES 


FTER  I  joined  the  church, 
and  so  put  myself  down 
regular  on  the  Lord's  side, 
I  began  to  consider  just 
what  I  ought  to  do  about  my  char 
ities.  I  was  born  and  raised  sort  of 
free-handed, — took  it  from  both  pa 
and  ma.  So  I  didn't  try  to  see  how 
little  I  could  give  away  and  keep  up 
appearances  and  satisfy  my  con 
science,  but  how  much  I  could  spare 
and  yet  get  along.  I  never  had  a 
head  for  figures.  I  was  always  at 
the  foot  of  the  arithmetic  class  in 
school, — don't  really  know  the  mul 
tiplication-table  to  this  day,  and 
am  forever  getting  mixed  up  and 


90     AUNT  ABBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

muddled  over  the  bills  at  the  store 
or  on  the  farm. 

I  knew  I  must  be  dreadful  par 
ticular  in  this  matter,  and,  if  I'd  got 
to  make  mistakes  I  must  make  them 
on  the  right  side;  I  mean  I  must 
manage  to  give  too  much  rather  than 
too  little.  One  of  pa's  old  sayings 
was,  "It's  better  to  slop  than  to 
skimp,"  and  that's  truer  in  giving  to 
the  Lord  than  in  anything  else.  I 
didn't  like  to  ask  anybody  about  it. 
I  knew  better  than  other  folks  about 
what  I  owned,  and,  particular,  how 
much  I'd  had  from  the  Lord  to  be 
grateful  for  and  pay  back.  But  still 
I  really  didn't  know  myself  just 
what  my  income  was,  nor  how  much 
I  could  afford  to  part  with.  I 
owned  the  place  where  I  lived, — a 
little  house  with  a  few  acres  of  land. 


AUNT  ABBY'S  TITHES         91 

I  had  a  little  money  in  the  savings 
bank,  and  there  were  a  few  other 
things  that  brought  me  in  some 
thing  every  year;  but  just  how 
much  it  all  came  to  I  didn't  know. 
And  again,  what  part,  how  much  of 
it  all,  I  ought  to  give  back  in  char 
ity,  I  wasn't  exactly  sure.  But  I 
thought  it  over,  and  studied  up  the 
Bible,  and,  of  course,  prayed  over  it 
some,  and  by  and  by  it  seemed  to 
come  to  me.  I  found  out  from  the 
Bible  that  the  least  anybody  ought 
to  give  was  a  tenth  of  what  he  had. 
It's  called  a  tithe  in  some  places,  but 
Deacon  Blodgett  said  that  was  the 
same  thing,  and  meant  a  tenth  part. 
But,  as  I  said  before,  I  didn't  know 
how  much  property  I  had,  so  how 
could  I  divide  it  by  ten,  and  get  a 
tithe  of  it? 


92     AUNT  AEEY'S  NEIGHBORS 

Well,  I  soon  saw  that  the  only 
way  I  could  fix  it  and  be  certain 
sure  I  wasn't  skimping  the  Lord's 
share  was  this  :  I  must  divide  every 
single  thing  as  it  came  along  by  ten, 
and  when  I'd  got  the  answer  to  the 
sum,  I  must  give  that  away  right  off, 
before  I  forgot  about  it,  always  add 
ing  a  little  to  it,  for  fear  I  hadn't 
divided  right,  knowing  my  bad  head 
for  figures.  You  have  no  idea  how 
well  that  way  worked,  and  works 
still,  for  I  always  do  it  to  this  day. 
I'll  show  you. 

There  were  my  hens,  for  one  thing. 
I  had  quite  a  lot,  and  they  were 
good  layers  most  times.  Well,  say  I 
got  fifteen  eggs  one  day.  As  soon  as 
I'd  counted  them  I'd  divide  them  by 
ten.  It  would  go  once  and  some 
thing  over,  so,  of  course,  I'd  call  it 


AUNT  ABBY'S  TITHES         93 

twice.  There'd  be  two  eggs  that 
didn't  belong  to  me,  but  to  the  Lord 
or  His  people.  Then  there  was  the 
allowing,  as  I  call  it, — the  adding  on 
for  fear  I  hadn't  divided  right ;  and 
that  made  three.  Of  course,  I 
picked  out  the  biggest,  if  there  was 
any  difference,  and  in  some  ways  or 
other  those  three  eggs  went  where 
they  belonged.  Sometimes  they 
were  sold,  and  the  money  paid  into 
the  treasury ;  sometimes  they  went 
just  as  eggs  to  some  of  the  Lord's 
sick  or  poor,  or  to  somebody  doing 
His  work. 

Then  my  garden :  the  vegetables, 
and  the  fruit,  and  the  flowers, — they 
were  all  divided  the  same  way,  as 
fast  as  they  came  on.  'Twas  hard 
work  for  me,  with  my  poor  head  for 
figures,  to  find  out  just  how  much  a 


94     AUNT  ABBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

tenth  part  of  a  bushel  was,  when  I 
had  my  roots  dug, — the  potatoes 
and  turnips,  carrots,  and  so  on.  I 
couldn't  do  it  on  paper  or  the  slate. 
I  just  had  to  take  each  bushel  itself, 
and  lay  them  out  in  ten  parts,  by 
looks  or  counting.  Then  I'd  allow, 
of  course,  feeling  pretty  sure  I'd 
made  some  mistake,  and  generally 
add  a  little  from  nine  of  the  heaps 
to  the  Lord's  pile, — and  there  it  was, 
you  see,  all  done.  'Twas  a  good 
deal  of  work,  but  real  interesting. 
Pumpkins  were  easy.  They  were 
big,  and  counted  quick.  Beans  and 
peas  were  pretty  difficult,  but  cab 
bages  plain  and  easy. 

My  posies  didn't  bring  in  any 
money ;  there  wasn't  any  sale  for 
such  things  in  the  village,  of  course, 
so  they  must  be  given  away  just  as 


AUNT  ABBT'S  TITHES         95 

they  were.  But  there  were  always 
sick  people  to  send  a  little  bunch  to, 
or  poor  folks  that  hadn't  any  gar 
dens,  and  many,  many  times  there 
were  the  dead,  with  them  they'd  left 
sorrowing,  wanting  to  lay  something 
white  and  sweet  and  comforting  on 
their  breasts  or  in  their  cold,  still 
hands.  And  there  was  the  meeting 
house  to  look  out  for  Sundays  with 
the  pitcher  of  Canterbury  bells  or 
fox-gloves  or  poppies  or  pinks. 
Congregationals — I  was  always  one 
of  them,  you  know — didn't  put 
flowers  in  the  meeting-house  much 
those  days.  But  it  seemed  a  good 
thing  to  me,  our  Master  having 
made  so  much  of  posies,  and  they 
themselves  having  so  many  little 
kind  of  sermons  in  them.  So  I  be 
gun  doing  it,  and  somehow  nobody 


96     AUNT  ABBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

stopped  me,  though  there  was  some 
talk  at  first,  and  the  story  got 
around  that  Abby  Coles — that's  me, 
you  know — was  going  over  to  the 
Episcopals.  Then  there  was  my 
herb  corner,  where  I  raised  thyme 
and  sweet-marjoram  and  mint  and 
summer-savory.  I  just  admired  to 
do  the  dividing  up  of  that,  for  it 
made  me  think  of  the  "  tithes  of 
mint,  anise,  and  cummin  "  the  Bible 
tells  of.  You  wouldn't  think  there 
was  much  use  for  such  herbs  in  the 
Lord's  work,  but  there  was.  There 
was  stuffing  for  the  tenth  part  of  my 
chickens — I  didn't  keep  turkeys — to 
have  sage  or  sweet-marjoram  or  sum 
mer-savory  or  all  three  in,  as  folks 
chose ;  and  there  were  the  sausages, 
tithes  of  them  to  be  seasoned  up  for 
the  minister  and  his  big  family, — 


AUNT  ABBT'S  TITHES         97 

he  had  quivers  full  of  children,— 
and  for  old  Captain  Lee,  Aunt  Lois 
Worthy,  'Lias  Bates,  and  all  the 
rest  of  our  poor  folks.  And  there 
was  hardhack  and  boneset  and 
motherwort,  and  lots  of  other  cur 
ing,  healing  things  for  the  sick  and 
ailing.  Dear  me  !  my  tenth  part  of 
that  herb-bed  had  to  have  lots  of  al 
lowing  to  make  it  go  'round. 

Well,  so  I  did  with  everything, 
you  see.  The  interest  I  got  from 
the  savings-bank  I  tithed  each  time 
it  came  in,  always  allowing  more  on 
that  than  on  other  things,  because 
of  my  poor  head  for  figures,  and  my 
being  afraid  I  should  do  the  sum 
wrong.  And  so  with  the  rent  for  my 
pasture  that  John  Walker  hired  for 
his  cattle.  He  didn't  pay  very  reg 
ular,  sometimes  not  at  all.  But,  of 


98     AUNT  ABBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

course,  that  didn't  make  any  differ 
ence  ;  I'd  got  to  take  a  tenth  of  the 
price  he'd  ought  to  'a'  paid,  besides 
the  allowing. 

Of  course,  I've  only  told  you  a 
part  of  the  story.  'Twould  take  me 
a  year  to  tell  about  everything, — 
how  I  measured  the  milk  from  my 
cow  when  it  was  new,  and  then  the 
cream  when  it  was  skimmed ;  how, 
when  my  pigs  were  killed,  I  tithed 
the  meat, — spareribs,  hams,  pork, 
and  all,  each  by  itself.  My  calves 
too, — the  veal,  the  liver,  and  the 
head.  I  gave  a  tenth  part  of  the  use 
of  my  horse — old  Jack — to  the  sick 
or  poor,  the  minister  or  funerals.  I 
tithed  my  hay,  my  oats,  my  buck 
wheat,  and  always  every  single  time, 
of  course,  I  allowed,  to  make  sure  I 
was  right  and  honest. 


AUNT  ABBY'S  TITHES         99 

This  rule  of  mine  worked  sort  of 
queer  sometimes,  and  turned  out  al 
most  comical.  I  recollect  once  I'd 
been  busy  house-cleaning,  and  some 
how  I'd  forgotten  how  near  out  the 
victuals  in  the  house  was.  I  went  to 
set  the  table  for  tea,  and  I  found 
there  wasn't  hardly  anything  in  the 
closet  but  one  huckleberry  pie  and 
three  doughnuts.  I'd  got  into  such 
a  habit  of  tithing  I  begun  to  divide 
those  provisions  right  off,  though  I 
really  had  done  it  before  on  baking- 
day,  and  sent  out  my  tenth  and  the 
allowing.  I  undertook  to  cut  that 
pie  into  ten  pieces,  but  you  know 
how  difficult  huckleberry  pie  is. 
The  juice  would  run  so  and  the  ber 
ries  squeeze  out  till  I  couldn't  tell 
one  piece  from  another,  and,  come  to 
the  tenth,  there  didn't  hardly  seem 


ioo  AUNT  ABBY'S  NEIGHBORS 

to  be  anything  to  it,  even  with  the 
allowing.  So  I  see  I  might  as  well 
take  the  whole  pie,  and  call  it  a 
tithe,  and  I  ran  over  to  poor  Miss 
Randy  Shaw's  with  it.  When  I 
came  back,  I  had  another  hard  sum 
to  do,  for  there  were  my  three 
doughnuts  to  divide  by  ten  !  I  was 
too  tired  to  try  to  do  that,  so  I  eat 
one  with  my  cup  of  tea,  and  laid 
away  the  others  for  little  lame  Billy, 
down  the  west  road. 

There  were  lots  of  other  things  I 
can  scursely  put  into  words, — sums 
you  can't  do  by  any  rule  of  arith 
metic,  and  yet  must  be  taken  into 
account  and  tithed.  There  were  the 
kind  things  folks  did  for  me,  such  a 
heap  of  them;  for  everybody's  al 
ways  so  good  to  me,  and  I'm  sure  I 
don't  know  why.  Those  things 


AUNT  ABBY'S  TITHES        101 

must  be  divided  somehow,  and  at 
least  a  tenth  part  of  them  passed  on 
to  them  that  needs  them.  There 
was  my  Bible  and  all  it  holds ;  that 
must  have  its  tithe  sent  to  those  that 
haven't  got  it, — the  heathen  here  at 
home  and  way  off  in  distant  lands. 
And  my  church, — I'm  Congrega 
tional,  you  know, — some  ways  I 
must  give  part  of  what  I  got  out  of 
that.  There  was  my  minister,  Mr. 
Jessup,  too.  It  made  me  smile  for 
a  minute  when  I  first  thought  of  di 
viding  him  by  ten.  He  was  dread 
ful  poor,  as  far  as  flesh  goes,  and 
seemed  as  though  a  tithe  of  him 
wouldn't  go  very  far.  But,  dear 
me !  the  goodness  and  kind  deeds 
and  faithful  work  for  his  people 
made  enough  of  him  to  divide  by 
a  hundred. 


102  AUNT  ABBY'S  NEIGHBORS 

And  then — I  mean  to  speak  very 
solemn  and  with  great  respect  and 
reverence  about  this — there  was  the 
greatest  gift  I'd  had  in  all  my  poor, 
selfish  life,  the  Christmas  present,  as 
I  like  to  call  it  in  my  heart.  I  tried 
real  hard  to  give  my  whole  share 
and  more  of  what  I  owed  Him  for 
that,  and  help  folks  that  hadn't  my 
privileges  to  get  its  peace  and  com 
fort.  I  don't  think  there  was  any 
need  of  stopping  at  a  tenth  part  in 
that  matter. 

Well,  I've  made  a  long  story  out 
of  my  tithing, — haven't  I  ?  But  you 
asked  me  about  it,  you  know.  And 
it  does  seem  to  me  such  a  good  way 
to  lay  out  your  charities,  and  such 
an  easy  one,  too.  For,  as  far  as  I 
can  see,  it  comes  out  just  about  right, 
— that  is,  if  you  divide  every  single 


AUNT  ABBT'S  TITHES       103 

thing  as  it  comes  along  by  ten,  and 
don't  wait  or  forget.  But  remember, 
you  must  always  allow,  even  if  you 
think  you  have  a  head  for  figures. 
Seems  to  me  each  year,  as  I  look 
back  and  count  up,  that  my  allow 
ance  is  about  as  big  as  my  tithes, 
though  I  don't  see  how  that  can  be. 
But  I  never  was  much  at  arithmetic, 
— that's  the  thing  of  it. 


AUNT  ABBY 

ON 

FRIENDSHIP 


VI      AUNT  ABET 
ON    FRIENDSHIP 


HEN  I  was  a  girl  I  used  to 
think  and  talk  a  great 
deal  about  friendship. 
Most  young  folks  do,  I 
guess.  It's  a  kind  of  nice-sounding, 
sentimental  word,  and  lots  has  been 
said  and  writ  about  it.  There  was  a 
book  that  always  laid  on  ma's  best 
room  table — it  had  a  red  cover  and 
matched  the  carpet  and  curtains — 
called  "  Friendship's  Offering,"  and 
there  were  real  pretty  verses  in  it. 
And  there  was  a  piece  we  used  to 
"sing  to  a  tune  named  Friendship,  a 
sort  of  jumpy,  up  and  down  tune. 
The  words  began, 

"Friendship  to  every  willing  mind 
Offers  a  heavenly  treasure." 
107 


io8  AUNT  ABBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

And  there  were  ever  so  many  stories 
in  different  books  about  friends  and 
all  they  did  for  each  other.  I  used 
to  think  about  the  subject  a  good 
deal  and  wish  I  had  one  of  the  kind 
of  friends  that  would  die  for  me,  and 
things  like  that.  And  I'd  sit  by  the 
hour  and  think  how  fine  'twould  be 
to  have  somebody  set  so  much  by  me 
that  she'd  follow  me  to  the  ends  of 
the  earth  and  give  up  everything  for 
me,  and  mebbe  mourn  herself  to 
death  on  my  grave  if  I  was  taken 
away  first.  Or  I'd  get  thinking  how 
she'd  save  me  from  drowning  or  be 
ing  burnt  up  or  run  over,  and  how 
she'd  lose  her  own  life  by  drowning 
or  burning  or  being  run  over,  and  be 
glad  to  do  it  for  me,  her  beloved 
friend.  I'd  really  cry  hard  about  it 
as  I'd  go  all  over  it  in  my  mind, 


AUNT  AEBY  ON  FRIENDSHIP    109 

it  seemed  so  real  and  so  dreadful 
mournful  and  nice. 

Well,  I  kept  choosing  friends, 
one  at  a  time,  and  each  time  I'd 
think  it  was  going  to  be  one  of  the 
friendships  you  read  about.  But 
somehow  it  didn't  turn  out  that  way. 
Mebbe  she — the  friend — would  give 
up  to  me  and  do  things  for  me,  first- 
off,  but  it  wouldn't  last.  She'd  get 
tired  giving  up  and  expect  me  to  do 
some  of  the  sacrificing,  and  then  I'd 
be  disappointed  and  discouraged,  and 
feel  as  if  I  was  a  kind  of  martyr. 
And  I'd  write  compositions  about 
this  world's  being  a  fleeting  show, 
and  how  nobody  appreciated  folks 
whose  hearts  was  crying  out  for  a 
friend,  and  all  that  silly  stuff  young 
folks  talk  and  write. 

There  was   Jane    Langworthy.     I 


no  AUNT  ABBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

took  her  for  my  intimate  friend  one 
time.  We  went  to  school  together, 
and  we  sat  at  the  same  desk  and  kept 
together  in  our  lessons  and  were  al 
ways  whispering  secrets  and  going 
about  with  our  arms  'round  each 
other.  I  asked  her  if  she  was  will 
ing  to  die  for  me,  and  she  said  she 
was,  and  I  believed  her  and  was  real 
satisfied.  But  one  time  when  I  was 
head  of  the  spelling  class  and  set  on 
keeping  my  place,  Jane  spelt  a  word 
I  missed  and  went  above  me,  and  my 
faith  in  true  friendship  was  shook 
for  a  long  spell. 

Then  I  had  Mercy  Evans.  That 
lasted  longer  than  most  any  of  my 
everlasting  friendships,  for  Mercy 
was  a  dreadful  pleasant  girl  and  real 
unselfish.  But  once  we  were  talking 
together  on  the  way  to  singing- 


AUNT  AEBT  ON  FRIENDSHIP  in 

school,  and  I  asked  her  if  she  would 
be  willing  to  be  burnt  at  the  stake 
sooner  than  deny  her  friendship  for 
me.  Well,  I  didn't  suppose  she'd 
even  stop  to  think,  but  she  did. 
She  sort  of  colored  up  and  looked 
troubled,  and  I  says,  "Why,  of 
course,  you'd  go  to  the  stake,  cheer 
ful,  if  you  had  to  choose  betwixt  that 
and  denying  me,  wouldn't  you  ? " 
And  Mercy  says,  very  low  and  stam 
mering,  "  Oh,  I  hope  I  might,  but 
I'm  so  afraid  I  wouldn't.  I  ain't  a 
bit  good  about  standing  pain,  you 
know,  and  I  might  give  in."  I  was 
that  disappointed  I  could  hardly 
speak,  but  as  soon  as  I  found  my 
voice,  I  just  up  and  told  her  what  I 
thought  of  her  and  what  a  failure 
she  was  as  a  real,  true,  self-denying 
friend. 


H2  JUNT  DEBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

So  it  went  on,  but  I  can't  re 
member  all  of  my  different  friend 
ships  nor  what  broke  each  one  up. 
But  I  do  remember  plain  just  how  I 
came  to  see  things  different  and  to 
know  what  friendship  really  means. 
My  friend  that  time  was  Maria 
Anderson.  She  was  real  pretty  to 
look  at,  with  heaps  of  shining 
yellow  hair,  pink  cheeks,  and  big 
blue  eyes.  I  guess  it  was  her  good 
looks  made  me  first  think  of  taking 
her  for  my  intimate  friend.  She 
wasn't  much  at  studying  and  was 
'most  always  near  the  foot  of  the 
class,  and  she  wasn't  very  well  off, 
her  folks  being  about  the  poorest  in 
the  village.  But  she  talked  beauti 
ful  about  friendship  and  promised  to 
stand  by  me  till  death  and  give  up 
everything  for  me,  even  her  life,  if 


AUNT  AEBT  ON  FRIENDSHIP  113 

it  was  necessary.  I  thought  this 
time  I'd  found  just  what  I'd  been 
looking  for  so  long.  But  after  a 
spell  I  began  to  see  faults  in  Maria. 
Spite  of  all  her  talk  about  giving  up, 
I  could  see  she  managed  to  get  her 
own  way,  or  tried  to,  at  any  rate. 
She  expected  my  help  in  her  lessons 
and  writing  compositions ;  she 
hinted  at  wanting  my  prettiest  hair 
ribbons  and  bows.  She  got  me  to 
introduce  my  boy  friends  to  her  and 
then  sort  of  took  them  away  from 
me,  she  being  so  much  nicer  to  look 
at.  Fact  is,  she  didn't  seem  to  do 
anything  for  me  in  friendship's  name 
except  to  talk  and  promise. 

'Twas  just  at  that  time  when  I 
was  seeing  all  this  and  was  disap 
pointed  and  discouraged,  for  about 
the  twentieth  time  in  my  life,  that 


H4  AUNT  ABBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

something  happened.  'Twasn't  any 
thing  out  of  the  common  ;  at  least 
it  didn't  appear  to  be  at  first.  I  was 
turning  over  the  leaves  of  my  Bible, 
looking  for  a  good  verse  to  say  at 
weekly  prayer-meeting,  when  my 
eye  fell  on  the  word  "  friend,"  and  I 
stopped  to  read  what  it  said.  It  was 
that  beautiful  verse,  "  Greater  love 
hath  no  man  than  this,  that  a  man 
lay  down  his  life  for  his  friend." 
Well,  in  my  narrow,  selfish  way  of 
looking  at  the  subject,  poor,  silly 
girl  that  I  was,  I  says  to  myself, 
"  Oh,  how  true  that  is  !  But  where 
shall  I  ever  find  such  a  friend,  one 
that  would  really  and  truly  lay  down 
her  life  for  me  ?  " 

All  of  a  sudden, — for  the  very 
first  time  in  my  life,  if  you'll  be 
lieve  it, — came  into  my  mind  the 


AUNT  ABET  ON  FRIENDSHIP  115 

question,  "  What  about  your  doing 
that  for  a  friend?"  I  felt  kind  of 
ashamed,  even  though  I  was  all 
alone  by  myself,  but  I  tried  to  get 
around  it  by  saying,  "  We're  not 
talking  about  that  side  of  it ;  that's 
another  question."  But  I  knew  all 
the  time  it  wasn't  another  question, 
but  the  same,  only  more  important. 
I  tried  to  get  it  out  of  my  head,  so  I 
thought  I'd  look  up  some  other 
verses  about  friends  and  friendship, 
thinking  they  might  give  different 
views.  I  had  a  little  leather-cov 
ered  book,  Brown's  Concordance, 
and  I  began  to  look  it  over.  I 
found  a  good  many  verses  about 
friends,  such  as  "  A  friend  loveth  at 
all  times," — not  only  when  things 
go  right,  you  see, — and  "  Thine  own 
friend,  and  thy  father's  friend,  for- 


n6  AUNr  ABBY'S  NEIGHBORS 

sake  not " — not  even  if  they're  not 
quite  perfect  and  seem  a  mite  selfish. 
And  then,  turning  over  the  pages, 
I  kept  coming  upon  passages  about 
our  dealings  with  our  "  brothers," 
which  must  be  about  the  same  as 
friends,  the  forgiving  them,  and 
bearing  with  them,  and  giving  up 
for  them,  and  doing  for  them,  and 
"  by  love,  serving  one  another," 
bearing  each  other's  burdens,  being 
long  suffering.  And  I  struck  by 
chance  (mebbe  it  wasn't  chance)  on 
those  verses  about  charity  ;  its  never 
failing,  its  suffering  long,  its  bearing 
all  things,  believing  all  things, 
hoping  all  things,  enduring  all 
things.  Dear  me,  by  that  time  I 
almost  crawled  under  the  table,  I 
was  so  ashamed  of  what  I  had  called 
my  friendships. 


AUNT  ABET  ON  FRIENDSHIP  117 

But  all  that  was  nothing  when  I 
came,  sudden  like,  upon  this  verse, 
"  Henceforth  I  call  you  not  servants, 
but  friends."  It  was  the  Lord,  our 
Master,  who  said  that,  you  know. 
And  He  said  it  to  them  that  were 
weak  and  foolish  and  full  of  mis 
takes,  if  nothing  worse.  He  said  it 
to  Peter  who  was  going  to  deny  Him 
in  the  very  first  trouble  that  came ; 
to  Thomas,  so  full  of  doubtings  and 
unbelief,  to  all  of  them  that,  when 
trials  came,  "  forsook  Him  and  fled." 
He  called  them  friends,  with  all 
their  sins  and  selfish  ways,  and  was 
going  to  lay  down  His  life  for  them, 
— and  He  did  it.  I  knew  all  this 
before,  but  somehow  I  hadn't 
thought  of  it  in  this  connection, 
when  I  was  trying  to  find  out 
what  friendship  was  and  why  I 


n8  AUNT  ABBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

hadn't  ever  got  the  right  kind  of 
friend. 

That  was  one  of  the  great  waking- 
ups  of  my  life,  and  I've  had  a  good 
many.  I  don't  mean  to  say  I'm  the 
right  kind  of  friend  now.  I  can  see 
such  self-seeking,  mean,  uncharita 
ble  things  in  my  friendships  always 
still,  but  I  know  now  what  they'd 
ought  to  be.  Maria  Anderson  is 
about  my  most  intimate  friend  still. 
We  kept  on,  you  see,  after  that  time. 
I  don't  know  as  she's  changed  so 
dreadful  much,  but  I  look  at  things 
different.  There's  always  two  sides 
to  a  friendship,  and  she's  got  the 
side  that  lets  me  do  for  her,  help 
her,  make  allowances  for  her.  That 
seems  to  me  the  hardest  side.  I 
could  scursely  stand  it  to  have  that 
side,  unless  it  was  laid  upon  me  so's 


4UNT  4BBT  ON  FRIENDSHIP   119 

I  could  see  I'd  ought  to  take  it. 
And  I've  got  the  side  of  helping, 
giving  up,  sacrificing, — in  a  very 
small  way  that  hardly  deserves  the 
name, — seeing  the  happiness  I  can 
give  her  and  that  she's  willing  to 
take.  Mine's  the  easiest  side,  you 
see,  but  I  didn't  seek  it  out;  it 
seemed  to  come  that  way  naturally. 
And  she  does  fit  into  her  part  real 
well,  and  I  love  her  for  it.  It  al 
most  seems  sometimes  that  she  goes 
out  of  her  way  to  give  ine  chances 
to  do  for  and  help  her.  There's 
times  when  I  am  wishing  for  some 
new  way  to  show  my  friendship  for 
her,  and  all  of  a  sudden  she'll  let  me 
know  there's  some  one  little  thing 
she  wants  and  has  set  her  mind  on, 
and  that  I  could  get  for  her.  And  I 
do  it,  gladly  enough,  I  tell  yout  and 


120  AUNT  JBBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

she  takes  it  so  surprised  and  so 
thankful,  and  there  comes  a  little 
more  love  for  her  in  my  heart 
and  a  beautiful  new  thing  into  our 
friendship. 

Sometimes — not  very  often,  not 
quite  frequent  enough  to  suit  me — 
the  thing  I  see  she  wants  takes  a 
real  sacrificing  and  giving  up  on  my 
part,  and  that's  splendid  and  makes 
my  heart  too  full  to  hold.  It  was 
that  way  about  the  little  home  of 
her  own  she's  got  now,  down  the 
street  there.  She  let  me  see  that 
she  just  longed  to  own  that  place, 
and  I  managed  to  surprise  her  with 
it  one  birthday.  I  found  I  couldn't 
quite  do  that  without  parting  with 
my  wood  lot  that  I'd  sort  of  held  on 
to  because  pa  left  it  to  me.  And  the 
letting  that  wood  lot  go  so't  I  could 


AUNT  ABET  ON  FRIENDSHIP  121 

buy  the  little  home  for  Maria  was 
'most  the  best  thing  that  ever  came 
into  our  friendship,  for  it  hurt  a 
little,  and  I  was  dreadful  glad. 

And  there's  lots  of  little  bits  of 
things  she  lets  me  do.  She  never 
liked  preserving  and  pickling  or  ma 
king  jell.  She  always  lets  me  do 
them  for  her,  and  generally  her  cake 
and  pies  too.  And  her  posy  garden 
is  prettier  than  mine  now  since  I 
took  to  taking  care  of  it  for  her.  I 
don't  waste  my  time  now,  pottering 
over  my  own  plants  in  the  selfish 
way  I  used  to,  and  I'm  so  proud  and 
pleased  when  folks  talk  about  what 
a  faculty  for  gardening  Miss  Ander 
son's  got,  and  kind  of  hint  that  she 
beats  me.  And  so  as  to  the  work 
she  takes  home  from  the  sewing 
society.  She  has  a  queer  trouble  in 


122  AUNT  ABBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

her  back  that  makes  her  nervy  and 
sort  of  weak  if  she  sews,  while  I 
really  like  to  have  a  needle  in  my 
fingers,  so  it  works  just  right,  her 
part  and  mine.  And,  of  course, 
there's  no  need  of  talking  about  our 
little  ways  outside,  so  I  get  a  little 
pride  again  in  knowing  folks  think 
my  best  friend  is  a  good  seamstress. 

Oh,  I  get  my  full  share  out  of  this 
friendship,  you  better  believe.  I'm 
too  selfish  not  to  have  that.  It's 
better  to  be  a  friend  than  have  a 
friend,  I  hold,  but  they  come  to  the 
same  thing  after  all.  Don't  call 
yourself  a  friend  and  be  thinking 
the  everlasting  time  what  the  other 
side  of  the  friendship  can  do  for  you. 
But  be  a  friend  for  the  sake  of  what 
you  can  do  for  the  other,  what  you 
can  give  or  give  up,  what  sorrow 


ABBT  ON  FRIENDSHIP  123 

you  can  bear  for  him,  what  sacrifice 
you  can  make,  what  good  to  his 
body  or,  more  than  all,  to  his  soul. 

How  I  do  run  on  !  And  I  ought 
to  be  home  this  instant  minute, 
steeping  some  wild  valerian.  Maria 
Anderson  feels  as  if  she  was  going 
to  have  a  gone  spell,  and  she  always 
thinks  my  steeping  is  a  lot  better 
than  any  she  can  do,  she's  so  partial 
to  me,  for  I'm  her  most  intimate 
friend,  you  know. 


AUNT 
ABBY'S 
XT-DOORS 


VII    AUNT  ABBT'S 
"NEXT-DOORS" 


I  IS  WAS  telling  you  once 
jf  how  I  always  felt  about 
folks  that  lived  next 
door,  how  it  seemed  to 
lay  a  kind  of  responsibility  on  me  as 
a  sort  of  next  door  or  nighest  duty. 
Well,  that  notion  of  mine  brought  a 
lot  of  queer  things  into  my  life  ; 
some  of  them  pleasant,  some  funny, 
and  some  real  mournful.  I  always 
called  such  neighbors  "  next-doors," 
and  I  remember  so  many  of  them. 

There  was  Miss  Silvy  Blow  that 
lived  in  the  other  half  of  my  house 
in  Factoryville.  I  didn't  get  to 
know  her  for  quite  a  spell,  though  I 

tried  hard.     She  kept  to  herself  and 
127 


128  AUNT  ABBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

never  would  look  up  or  speak  when 
we  met  on  the  steps  or  anywheres. 
And  she  had  such  a  sort  of  cross, 
stand-off  look  on  her  face,  a  real  un 
happy  expression  too.  I  found  she 
was  deaf  and  dreadful  touchy  about 
it,  and  unhappy  and  suspecting  and 
unresigned.  I  felt  terrible  sorry  for 
her.  Seemed  as  if  I  must  do  some 
thing  to  help  her  and  brighten  her 
up,  and  bimeby  I  got  the  chance 
and  I've  always  been  so  glad  and 
thankful.  Dear  me,  how  many 
things  I've  had  to  be  thankful  for, 
and  more  than  anything  else,  the 
lots  of  chances  to  help  folks  that 
have  been  sent  to  me.  There  ain't 
many  people  so  blest. 

I  don't  remember  exactly  how  we 
first  got  to  speaking.  But  any  way 
after  a  spell  Miss  Silvy  appeared  to 


AUNTAKBT'S  "NEXT-DOORS"   129 

see  I  was  friendly  and  interested  in 
her,  and  she  wasn't  so  stand-off 
with  me,  and  before  many  weeks  we 
were  good  friends.  One  day  she 
showed  how  much  she  liked  and 
trusted  me  by  letting  out  the  whole 
mournful  story  of  her  deafness  and 
how  it  was  spoiling  her  whole  life. 
It  cut  her  off,  she  said,  from  every 
body,  and  she  was  so  lonesome  and 
miserable.  Folks  avoided  her,  the 
children  wouldn't  come  nigh  her, 
and  she  was  always  thinking  people 
were  saying  things  about  her  when 
she  saw  them  talking  and  couldn't 
hear  them.  Poor,  poor  thing,  how 
I  did  pity  her,  though  I  saw  plain 
enough  she  was  making  a  dreadful 
mistake.  I  was  'most  afraid  to  say 
a  word  for  fear  it  would  be  the 
wrong  thing,  and  so  do  more  harm 


i3o  AUNT  DEBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

than  good,  but  I  just  couldn't  let  her 
go  on  in  that  dreadful  way  without 
at  any  rate  trying  to  help.  So  first 
I  let  her  see  plain  that  I  was  real 
sorry  for  her  and  felt  for  her  and  felt 
with  her.  That  never  does  a  mite 
of  harm  whatever  you  do  afterwards. 
Even  if  you  feel  you've  got  to  find  a 
little  fault  or  give  a  bit  of  advice  or 
point  out  some  small  mistakes  or 
wrong-doings,  be  sure  to  show  your 
liking  and  your  sympathizing  first, 
and  they'll  take  the  other  dose  a 
heap  easier  and  better ;  at  least 
that's  the  way  it's  been  with  me. 
And  after  I'd  done  that — done  it 
right  from  my  heart  too,  for  I  did 
feel  terrible  sorry  for  her,  so  that 
my  eyes  got  sort  of  wet  and  teary 
and  she  saw  it — then  I  begun  to 
show  her  the  other  side.  First  place 


AUNT  ABBT'S  "NEXT-DOORS"   131 

I  made  her  smile  a  little  by  quoting 
one  of  my  old  grandma's  rhyming 
proverbs — she  had  one  for  every 
occasion — 

11  Be  but  a  little  deaf  and  blind, 
If  happiness  you  wish  to  find." 

Then  I  told  her  there  seemed  to  me 
lots  of  truth  in  that.  There's  so 
many,  many  things  in  this  world 
we'd  all  be  better  off  for  not  hearing, 
but  it's  hard  to  shut  our  ears  to  them. 
But  as  for  her,  I  says  to  Miss  Silvy, 
why  her  ears  were  shut  for  her.  So 
she  wasn't  always  hearing  the  gossip, 
the  ill-natured,  spiteful  things  folks 
said.  For  they  was  generally,  not 
always,  said  without  stopping  to 
think  and  so  was  hardly  ever  spoken 
out  loud  and  plain  and  deliberate  as 
they  must  be  said  to  a  person  a  mite 
hard  of  hearing.  I'm  sure  you've  no- 


i32  AUNT  DEBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

ticed  that,  yourself,  how  folks  scursely 
ever  sit  down  and  say  out  loud  into  a 
deaf  person's  ear  the  hateful  unkind 
things  about  other  people  that  they'd 
soon  enough  say,  sort  of  under  their 
breath,  or  in  hintings  and  shakes  of 
the  heads  and  half  said  meanings. 
That  was  one  thing,  I  told  Miss 
Silvy,  that  had  made  me  most  wish 
I  was  a  mite  hard  of  hearing  myself. 
And  another  was  the  being  able  to 
shut  yourself  up  any  time  and  think 
of  those  great  subjects  that  always 
seem  to  need  a  still  time  and  a  shut- 
in  place  for  thinking  about.  Other 
folks  that  hear  every  little  disturb 
ing  noise  have  to  enter  into  a  closet 
and  shut  the  door  with  their  own 
hands.  But  with  deaf  people,  there 
it  is  all  done  for  them  by  Somebody 
else.  And  as  for  the  suspecting  part, 


AUNT  ABBY'S  "NEXT-DOORS"    133 

the  being  afraid  folks  are  saying 
something  bad  about  you  when  you 
see  they're  speaking  and  can't  hear 
them,  why  seems's  if  'twould  work 
the  other  way.  Why  not  get  into 
the  habit  of  suspicioning  they're  say 
ing  something  so  good  of  you  they're 
afraid  to  let  you  hear  ?  For  lots  of 
times,  that's  the  truth.  And  I  told 
Miss  Silvy  two  or  three  kind,  pleas 
ant  things  I,  myself,  had  heard  folks 
say  about  her,  when  I  could  see  by 
her  face  at  the  time  she'd  thought 
they  were  talking  against  her. 

And  as  for  the  children's  not  li 
king  her  and  their  keeping  out  of 
the  way,  why,  was  it  all  their  fault  ? 
I  didn't  want  to  blame  it  on  her, 
but  I  just  sort  of  hinted  that  she 
hadn't  given  the  boys  and  girls  in 
that  district  much  reason  to  think  she 


134  AUNT  ABBY'S  NEIGHBORS 

wanted  them  around,  and  I  was  so 
glad  I  could  tell  her  what  little  Sarah 
Ann  Mills  said  the  other  day.  She'd 
been  over  there  on  an  errand  and  she 
said  she  see  a  rag  baby  up  on  the 
shelf  and  she  did  want  so  to  take  it, 
but  she  was  afraid  of  Miss  Silvy. 
Then  the  little  thing  went  on,  "  I 
wish't  I  wasn't  so  'fraid  of  her,  for 
she  looks's  if  she  wasn't  very  com- 
for'ble  and  I'd  like  to  amuse  her." 
Miss  Silvy's  eyes  got  a  mite  damp 
and  she  says,  "  That  was  Mary's  doll 
baby,  my  little  sister  that  died. 
Sarah  Ann  looks  a  mite  like  Mary, 
now  I  think  of  it,  and  she  can  come 
and  play  with  that  doll  any  time 
she  wants  to  ;  you  tell  her  so." 

Dear  me,  I  can't  tell  you  all  I  said 
to  her.  You  would  have  said  it  bet 
ter  and  thought  of  more  of  those  con- 


AUNT  ABBT'S  "NEXT-DOORS"   135 

soling  things.  But  I  recollect  one 
thing  I  dwelt  on  was  that  deafness 
seemed  to  bring  your  friends  so  close 
up  to  you.  They  had  to  look  right  in 
your  face  and  speak  right  into  your 
ear,  so  that  everything  they  said 
seemed  meant  just  for  you  alone  and 
nobody  else,  kind  of  confidential,  you 
know.  You  see  my  talk  was  all 
plain,  common  truth  that  everybody 
knows  and  told  in  my  poor  way. 
But  Somebody  blessed  it  and  made  it 
take  effect,  and  Silvy  Blow  got  to  be 
a  different  kind  of  woman  before 
long.  Her  face  lost  that  unhappy, 
fretful  look  and  got  a  real  peaceful, 
sweet  expression,  and  folks  went  to 
see  her  a  great  deal,  particular  when 
they  were  in  trouble  and  they  told 
their  sorrows  right  into  her  ears  and 
she  was  never  tired  of  hearing  and 


136  AUNT  ABBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

trying  to  help.  And  the  children, 
my !  the  house  was  full  of  boys  and 
girls  from  morning  to  night.  Come 
to  find  out  Miss  Silvy  was  a  great 
hand  at  making  rag  dolls  and  paint 
ing  up  their  faces,  and  the  young 
ones  said  her  cookies  and  turnovers 
couldn't  be  beat  and  she  knew  more 
games  and  stories  then  anybody  else 
in  Factoryville. 

The  children's  shrill,  clear  voices 
made  her  hear  real  easy.  But  there 
were  two  or  three  sort  of  bashful 
young  ones  that  liked  best  to  get 
close  up  to  her  and  talk  right  into 
her  ear,  and  she  loved  that.  Sarah 
Ann  Mills  was  one  of  them  and  it 
was  pretty  to  see  her  snuggling  up 
to  Miss  Silvy  her  little  pink  mouth 
close  to  her  ear  while  she  told  her 
things.  I  heard  her  one  time  say- 


AUNT  ABBr$ "NEXT-DOORS"   137 

ing  softly  that  way,  "  I'm  real  sorry, 
Miss  Silvy,  if  it  hurts  you  being 
deaf,  but  I  can't  help  loving  you 
best  that  way,  it's  so  nice  to  tell 
things  right  into  your  inside  where 
your  heart  is."  "  Bless  you,  deary," 
says  Miss  Blow,  "  you  always  looked 
like  my  little  sister,  Mary,  and  you 
favor  her  more  every  single  day." 

I've  made  a  long  story  out  of  that 
one  next  door  neighbor.  I  was  go 
ing  to  tell  you  about  a  lot  of  them 
but  I  haven't  time  for  much  more 
to-day.  There  was  poor  Martha 
Merrit  that  thought  she  wasn't 
elected  and  so  couldn't  be  saved  and 
did  nothing  else  from  day's  end  to 
day's  end  but  mourn  and  lament 
over  her  lost  condition.  I  had  such 
a  time  with  her.  For  a  long  spell  I 
argued  with  her  and  tried  my  best 


138  AUNT  ABBT*S  NEIGHBORS 

to  convince  her  that  there  was  hope 
for  her  and  for  all  of  us  poor  sinners 
and  to  show  her  where  that  hope 
lay.  But  it  was  wasted  breath, 
time  thrown  away.  And  bimeby  I 
got  tired  and  I  took  another  way. 
I  asked  her  if  she  was  certain  sure 
she  was  going  to  be  lost  and  she  said 
she  was,  for  she  hadn't  been  elected 
and  she  knew  she  should  be  doomed 
to  everlasting  woe.  "  Well,  then,"  I 
says,  "  if  it's  sure  and  certain  why 
there  ain't  any  use  in  trying  to  do 
anything  about  it.  But  there  are 
lots  and  lots  of  folks  that  there's 
hope  for  still  and  they  need  some 
body  to  learn  them  what's  right  and 
to  help  them  and  comfort  them. 
So,"  I  says,  "  as  there's  not  a  bit  of 
use  doing  anything  for  your  own 
soul  why  you're  just  the  very  one  to 


AUNT  ABBrS  "NEXT-DOORS"   139 

work  for  others,  having  plenty  of 
time,  you  see.  And  I'll  tell  you 
some  things  you  can  do  right  off." 
Well,  I  don't  know  why,  but  it 
seemed  to  strike  her  as  something 
new  and  right  too.  She  was  a  kind- 
hearted  woman  and  a  sensible  one, 
get  her  off  that  one  idea  that  she 
was  almost  crazy  over.  She  took  up 
the  work  I  picked  out  for  her  and 
she  did  it,  did  it  well  and  kindly, 
and  I  gave  her  more.  She  got  terri 
ble  interested  in  it,  and  a  little  at  a 
time  she  forgot  herself  and  her  not 
being  elected  and — oh,  she  came  out 
all  right  and  is  a  cheerful,  busy  little 
woman  now. 

And  there  was  Humpy  Bill  as  the 
folks  called  poor  little  Billy  Jordan 
with  the  dreadful  back  so  bent  and 
bowed  that  his  head  leaned  over  and 


140  AUNT  ABBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

his  eyes  were  always  turned  to  the 
ground.  He  was  real  unhappy  till 
it  was  put  into  my  head  to  remind 
him  how  many  things  there  was  on 
the  ground  to  look  at  and  learn 
about  and  watch.  As  soon  as  he  be 
gun  he  went  way  beyond  me.  He 
learned  all  about  the  flowers  and  the 
grass  and  the  flies  and  bees  and  bugs 
and  caterpillars,  even  the  stones 
themselves,  and  he  got  to  be  a 
happy,  busy  little  chap,  friends  with 
everybody,  not  only  folks  but  all 
creatures  and  to  love  them  and  Him 
too  that  made  them  all. 

And  there  was  John  Long  and  his 
wife  that  got  so  far  apart  and  wor 
ried  me  so  till  I  found  they  really 
were  dreadful  fond  of  each  other 
but  had  let  things  come  between 
them.  And  of  course,  when  I  knew 


Mrs.  Annie  Trumbull  Slosson  has  added 
lustre  to  the  name  of  a  family  distinguished 
in  statesmanship,  scholarship,  art,  science 
and  letters.  She  is  a  sister  of  Dr.  H.  Clay 
Trumbull,  Editor  of  The  Sunday  School 
Times,  and  of  the  late  Dr.  J.  Hammond 
Trumbull  the  noted  philologist.  Mrs. 
Slosson  is  herself  a  naturalist  being  one  of 
the  highest  American  authorities  on  the 
moths  and  butterflies.  Her  entomological 
collection  is  extensive  and  practically  all 
of  her  own  gathering.  She  is  at  home 
among  the  plants  also.  Hence  we  find 
her  stories  betraying  exceptional  famili 
arity  with  nature,  and  turning  upon  its 
similitudes  and  symbolism  as  influences  on 
human  life  and  character.  With  superb 
art  Mrs.  Slosson  intimates  rather  than 
directly  stating,  profound  spiritual  truths 
through  the  quaint  self-revelation  of  her 
characters.  Her  art  is  thoroughly  original, 
delighting  in  the  felt  powers  of  the  intan 
gible  and  the  shadowy,  while  yet  moving 
in  an  atmosphere  of  rustic  simplicity. 


AUNT  ABBY'S  "NEXT-DOORS"   141 

that,  I  was  able  to  bring  them  to 
gether — never  mind  how — without 
their  knowing  I  did  it.  And — dear 
me,  I  won't  say  another  word.  I've 
got  to  run  in  next  door  at  three 
o'clock  to  take  care  of  little  Reuben 
while  his  mother  goes  to  the  doctor's. 
He's  a  fretty,  naughty  little  next- 
door,  but  he  likes  me  pretty  well  and 
I  can  generally  manage  him. 


UNT 
ABBY'S 
FIRST 
EASTER 


VIII     AUNT  ABBT'S 
FIRST      EASTER 


WASN'T  brought  up  to 
keep  Easter.  To  tell  the 
truth,  I  didn't  know  any 
thing  about  it,  or  what 
'twas  for,  till  I  was  a 
woman  grown.  You  know  there 
was  a  feeling,  those  days,  against  all 
such  things,  even  Christmas  itself, 
as  Roman  Catholic,  or,  anyway, 
Episcopal  seasons,  and  not  to  be  kept 
by  other  denominations.  Why,  pa 
used  to  tell  how  he  sent  a  big,  fat 
turkey,  one  time,  on  Christmas  Day, 
to  Parson  Roe.  The  old  man  sent 
it  back,  with  a  note  that  said  that 
any  other  day  he'd  take  it,  thankful, 
but  not  on  a  popish  feast  day.  He 
didn't  get  turkey  real  often,  neither, 


146  AUNT  DEBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

so  it  must  have  been  hard  work  to 
return  it. 

So,  as  I  said,  I  don't  believe  I'd 
ever  heard  of  such  a  time  as  Easter 
till  I  was  grown  up.  Then  Dr. 
Watkins  came  to  the  village  to 
practice,  after  old  Dr.  Ashby  died. 
He  was  an  Episcopal,  and  he  wanted 
a  church  of  that  sort.  He  found  a 
few  other  folks  that  felt  the  same 
way, — English  Bill,  the  rope-maker, 
and  Miss  Viney  Lee,  whose  father 
had  been  a  Tory,  and  some  young 
folks  that  wanted  something  new 
and .  queer, — and  they  started  an 
Episcopal  church.  They  used  to 
have  their  meetings  in  a  house  way 
up  at  the  north  end  of  the  village, 
not  far  from  the  burying-ground. 

Well,  I  was  spending  the  biggest 
part  of  my  time,  those  days,  in  that 


AUNT  ABBY'S  FIRST  EASTER    147 

burying-ground ;  for  my  little 
Danny,  my  only  child,  the  only  one 
I  ever  hftd,  was  laying  there.  I  guess 
I've  told  you  about  him, — the  cutest, 
prettiest  little  yellow-haired  fellow, 
taken  away  from  me  so  sudden, 
when  he  was  hardly  more  than  a 
baby.  He  died  just  at  the  beginning 
of  winter.  Maybe  you  know  some 
thing  about  what  that  means.  To 
lay  down  the  little  body  you'd  al 
ways  kept  so  warm  and  careful, 
covering  it  with  soft  blankets, 
cuddling  it  close  to  you  away  from 
drafts  or  the  least  mite  of  cold  air, 
holding  its  cunning  little  feet  in 
your  own  warm  hands,  so's  they'd 
never  be  chilled, — to  lay  down  that 
soft,  pretty  baby,  I  say,  in  the  cold, 
outdoors,  and  under  the  very  snow 
itself,— -oh,  how  can  we  ever,  ever 


148  AUNT  ABBY'S  NEIGHBORS 

bear  to  do  it !  But  we  have  to, — so 
many,  many  of  us  mothers  have  to. 
It  'most  broke  my  heart.  ?XI  was  a 
member  of  the  church,  a  believer, 
and  I  tried  to  bear  my  trouble  right. 
I  knew  it  was  only  the  body,  and 
not  the  soul,  that  I  was  putting 
away  there.  But  I  loved  that  little 
body  with  all  my  heart  and  soul  and 
mind.  In  a  mite  of  a  child  like 
that,  only  going  on  two  when  he 
died,  it's  the  body  part  we  love,  al 
most  more  than  the  soul,  seems  to 
me.  The  soul  in  a  baby  is  so  little 
and  hid  up,  you  'most  overlook  it. 
I  loved  the  yellow  curly  hair ;  the 
blue  eyes ;  the  soft,  pinky  cheeks ; 
the  little  bit  of  a  mouth,  just  as  red 
and  sweet  as  one  of  my  cinnamon 
roses;  the  pretty  baby  fingers;  the 
helpless  little  feet, — every  single 


FIRST  EASTER   149 


speck  of  that  child's  body  that  I'd 
held  in  my  arms  night  and  day  for 
'most  twenty  months.  And  now  I 
must  put  it  out  in  the  cold,  and 
leave  it  there.  I  tell  you,  even 
thinking  of  the  happy  little  soul  up 
in  heaven  didn't  make  up,  just  then, 
for  losing  and  leaving  all  alone,  out 
there,  that  blessed  little  body. 

But  I  tried  to  take  it  right.  I 
said,  time  and  time  again,  from  the 
very  first,  "Thy  will  be  done."  I 
told  the  Lord  I  knew  it  was  all 
right,  that  He  doeth  all  things  well, 
that  He  only  gave  and  took  away 
again,  and  I  said,  over  and  over  and 
over  again,  "  Blessed  be  the  name  of 
the  Lord."  But  as  long  as  I  felt 
that  way,  —  didn't  complain  or  rebel 
against  God's  will,  —  it  didn't  seem 
to  me  there  was  any  harm  in  ma- 


150  AUNT  ABBY'S  NEIGHBORS 

king  much  of  that  little  bed  where 
my  baby's  body  laid.  Seemed  to  me 
it  was  the  best  thing  to  do,  making 
one  think  of  God  and  His  chastening, 
of  heaven  and  the  many  mansions 
and  the  little  children  up  there  that 
always  behold  the  face  of  their  Fa 
ther.  So  day  after  day,  and  week 
after  week,  I  passed  my  time, — the 
biggest  part  of  it, — there  in  the 
burying-ground,  by  Danny's  little 
grave.  I  kept  the  snow  away,  and 
laid  sweet-smelling  fir  balsam 
branches  over  it.  Of  course,  there 
wasn't  any  flowers  in  bloom  at  that 
time  of  year,  but  I  found  pretty 
moss  under  the  snow,  and  running 
pine,  and  I  had  everlastings,  pearly 
white,  that  I'd  picked  and  dried  in 
the  fall.  So  I  kept  that  little  bed 
sweet  and  pretty,  and  as  warm  as  I 


AUNT  ABBrS  FIRST  E4STER  151 

could.  And  there  I  sat  hours  and 
hours  of  every  day.  I  wrapped  up 
warm,  so's  not  to  take  cold,  and 
somehow  kept  from  getting  real  sick, 
though  I  don't  see  now  how  it  was. 

Folks  talked  about  it, — said  they 
never  saw  such  sorrow,  such  mourn 
ing,  in  a  mother  before ;  and  some 
how  I  liked  to  have  them  say  it.  I 
liked  to  see  them  come  to  the  win 
dows  as  I  went  by  in  my  gloomy 
black  clothes,  with  my  white, 
mournful  face,  and  to  know  they 
were  saying,  "  Did  you  ever  see  such 
a  crushed,  broken-hearted  woman? 
Here  it  is  two  months,  or  more, 
since  her  child  was  taken,  and  still 
she  just  lives  by  his  grave. "  You 
know  what  I  mean.  I  didn't  do  it 
for  that.  I  didn't  even  know  I 
liked  to  hear  them  talk  that  way, 


i52  AUNT  ABBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

but  I  see  now  that  I  did.  I  gave  up 
everything  else  for  the  sake  of  that 
grave.  I'd  been  interested  in  a  good 
many  things  before  Danny  died. 
I'd  belonged  to  the  sewing  society, 
and  was  one  of  the  busiest  workers 
in  getting  up  the  box  of  things  we 
sent  off  every  year  to  the  home  mis 
sionaries  out  West.  I  had  a  class  of 
little  boys  in  the  Sabbath-school,  and 
I  used  to  go  out  a  good  deal  among 
the  poor  and  sick  in  the  town.  But 
I  gave  all  those  things  up  now.  It 
would  be  too  hard  to  make  or  mend 
clothes  for  the  missionary  children 
when  my  own  little  boy  would  never 
need  my  sewing  again.  And  how 
could  I  talk  to  those  boys  in  my 
class,  remembering  my  baby,  who 
would  never  grow  up  to  be  a  little 
lad  like  them !  And  I  just  could 


AUNT  ABBrS  FIRST  EASTER  153 

not  go  out  among  the  sick  and 
sorrowful,  and  try  to  comfort  them, 
when  my  own  heart  was  sore  and 
aching,  and  'most  broke.  I  didn't 
even  go  to  meeting  very  often. 
Wasn't  the  little  grave  a  more 
solemn,  sacred  spot  than  any  earthly 
temple?  I  said  to  myself.  Wasn't 
it  good  to  be  there, — better  for  my 
poor  hurt  soul  than  all  the  preach 
ing  and  hymn-singing,  and  that  kind 
of  worship  ? 

I  don't  see  now  how  I  could  have 
got  so  wrong  and  mistaken.  There 
was  plenty  of  things  to  show  me  my 
errors.  Some  one  told  me  one  day 
that  Eddie  Freeman,  one  of  my 
Sabbath-school  boys,  was  getting 
into  bad  ways.  He'd  left  the  class 
because  he  didn't  like  the  new 
teacher,  and  he  was  going  with  a 


154  AVNT  ABBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

wild  set  of  bigger  boys,  had  learnt 
to  swear  and  to  do  other  bad  things. 
"But  my  little  boy  is  safe,"  I  says 
to  myself, — "safe  here  in  his  little 
quiet  bed,  with  his  mother  watching 
over  him  day  in  and  day  out." 
There  was  a  good  deal  of  suffering 
that  winter,  sickness  about  and 
poverty.  But  hearing  of  it  only 
made  me  keep  closer  to  my  grave, 
and  think,  "  No  sickness  or  sorrow 
can  come  here,  to  touch  my  baby  in 
this  blessed  spot." 

Well,  it  came  spring.  I  was 
dreadful  glad  to  see  the  first  signs  of 
it,  the  little  pinky-white  buds  of 
the  mayflower  showing  when  you 
brushed  the  snow  away,  and  the 
soft,  furry  mouse-ears  peeking  up  at 
the  foot  of  the  trees.  I  picked  all 
I  could  find  of  the  earliest,  weak, 


AUNT  ABBY'S  FIRST  E4STER  155 

soft  little  blooms  that  made  me  think 
of  my  helpless  little  baby,  and 
strimmered  them  all  over  his  grave. 
I  sowed  some  grass-seed  there,  and 
watched  and  watered  it,  and  I  loved 
that  little  heap,  and  stayed  by  it 
more  and  more,  and  forgot  every 
thing  else  in  the  whole  world. 

One  Sunday  in  April  I  got  up 
very  early, — it  wasn't  quite  light, — 
and  started  for  the  burying-ground. 
I'd  found  some  white  anemones  the 
day  before,  and  dug  up  a  lot,  and  I 
wanted  to  set  them  out  about  my 
baby's  bed.  I  didn't  know  it  was 
anything  particular  that  day,  though 
I  recollected  it  was  the  Sabbath. 
But  I  remember  it  was  a  beautiful 
morning,  soft  and  bright,  with  a 
pinky  light  over  everything  as  the 
sun  came  up.  And  somehow,  as  I 


156  AUNT  ABBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

got  to  the  burying-ground  and  set 
down  my  basket  of  plants,  there 
came  into  my  mind  the  verse  in  the 
Bible  about  the  women  coming 
"  very  early  in  the  morning  at 
the  rising  of  the  sun "  to  the 
sepulchre  of  our  Lord.  And  just 
then  I  heard  music.  It  came  from 
the  building  where  the  Episco- 
pals  held  their  meetings,  right  close 
to  the  burying-ground.  'Twas  sing 
ing,  and  though  it  was  soft  and 
sweet,  I  could  hear  every  word  plain. 
The  first  thing  that  came  to  my  ears 
was,  "  He  is  not  here,  not  here ;  He 
is  not  here."  I  don't  know  myself 
why  those  words  struck  me  so. 
They're  in  the  Bible,  and  I'd  read 
them  dozens  of  times.  Maybe  it 
was  because  everything  was  so  still, 
and  I  had  thought  I  was  all  alone, 


AUNT  ABBT'S  FIRST  EASTER  157 

the  only  person  awake  in  all  the 
place,  but  anyway  those  words 
seemed  to  be  spoke,  or  sung,  to  me 
myself,  and  nobody  else,  and  they 
seemed  to  have  a  terrible  meaning. 
I  started  up,  and  I  says  to  myself, — 
I  don't  know  but  I  said  it  out  loud, 
"Not  here!  the  Lord  is  not  here!" 
And  soft,  soft,  but  real  clear  and 
sweet,  I  heard  the  words  again  in  a 
sort  of  chant  like,  "He  is  not  here, 
not  here.  Why  seek  ye  the  living 
among  the  dead  ?  " 

I  dropped  down  again  on  the 
ground  by  my  baby's  grave,  and 
covered  up  my  eyes.  In  one  quick 
minute  I  seemed  to  see  the  truth,  and 
to  know  what  I  had  been  doing,  and, 
more,  what  I  had  been  leaving  un 
done.  'Twas  just  as  if  some  big 
stone  had  been  rolled  away  that  had 


158    AUNT  ABBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

hid  the  truth,  and  I  could  see, — 
could  see  something,  but  not  all. 
"  Not  here,"  I  says  to  myself, — "  not 
where  I  have  spent  these  long 
months,  not  in  this  solemn  place  I've 
set  so  much  by  and  made  so  fair  and 
sweet.  Then  where,  oh,  just  tell  me, 
where  is  the  Lord  ?  For  you  have 
taken  Him  away,  and  I  don't  know 
where  you  have  laid  Him."  And  the 
sweet  singing  went  on  chanting-like 
again,  "  He  is  risen,  He  is  risen."  I 
looked  up,  way  up,  as  far  away  from 
that  little  heaped-up  grave  as  I  could 
look,  into  the  blue  sky  with  the  sort 
of  pinky  light  over  it,  and  it  seemed 
so  far  away.  I  cried  out,  "  Oh ! 
what  shall  I  do  ?  "  And  right  away 
I  heard  the  voices  chanting  out  the 
answer,  "  Go,  tell  My  brethren,  Go, 
quickly,"  they  were  singing,  "  Go, 


AUNT  ABBT'S  FIRST  EASTER  159 

tell  My  disciples."  I  understood. 
How  could  I  help  it  ?  What  notice 
had  I  taken  of  His  disciples,  His 
brethren,  all  these  last  months? 
They'd  gone  hungry,  untaught,  un- 
comforted,  for  all  me.  And  now, 
oh  !  was  it  too  late  ?  And  the  voices 
went  on,  "  Behold,  He  goeth  before 
you  into  Galilee,  there  shall  ye 
see  Him."  And  the  tears — such 
ashamed  ones,  but  almost  glad  too, 
as  I  heard  those  words,  and  felt  there 
was  another  chance  for  me  yet — came 
a-streaming  down  my  face.  I  took 
that  chance.  I  say  it  very  humbly. 
I  took  up  my  work  again,  leaving 
my  Danny  and  his  little  grave  to  the 
Lord's  care.  I  learnt  my  boys  in 
Sabbath-school  again,  I  worked  for 
the  missionary  box,  I  visited  amongst 
the  poor  and  the  sick  and  the  sorry, 


160  AUNT  ABBY'S  NEIGHBORS 

and  I  can  tell  you,  very  humbly,  as 
I  said  before,  but  very  thankful,  in 
the  Bible  words,  as  I  "went 'to  tell 
His  disciples,  behold,  Jesus  met "  me. 
I  found  afterwards  it  was  Easter 
Sunday,  and  I  learnt  all  about  the 
day  and  what  'twas  kept  for,  and, 
Congregational  as  I  am,  you  know, 
I've  kept  it  ever  since.  I  found  out 
too  that  the  singing  that  morning 
was  the  children  chanting,  as  they 
call  it,  the  story  of  that  first  rising, 
the  Lord's  resurrection.  It  wasn't 
the  regular  anthem  the  Episcopals 
use  that  day,  but  one  the  minister 
had  got  up  and  learnt  them,  and 
they  were  using  that  day  for  the  first 
time.  Do  you  think  I  don't  know 
why  they  were  led  to  sing  it  that 
morning?  Do  you  think  I  hold 
that  it  only  just  happened  so  ? 


AUNT  ABBY S 
PASTURE 

WITH  A  ROCK 


ix  AUNT:  ABBT>S 

PASTURE        WITH 
A     ROCK     IN     IT 

O,  I  don't  go  away  sum 
mers.  Oh,  yes,  I  know ; 
most  folks  do,  the  best  of 
folks, — ministers  and  all. 
And  they  tell  me  I'd  ought  to  go ; 
say  it's  refreshing  and  wakening  and 
lifting  and  broadening.  The  church 
at  the  Hollow,  and  the  one  at  the 
East  road,  and  Mr.  Edwards's,  all 
shut  up  for  three  weeks  at  a  time  in 
warm  weather ;  and  we  don't  have 
any  Sunday-school  at  all  nowadays 
in  July  and  August. 

Mr.  Edwards  says  he  gets  more 
strength  of  body  and  mind,  more 
help  for  his  work  and  points  for  his 

sermons,  in  his  vacation  at  the  sea- 
163 


164  AUNr  ABBY'S  NEIGHBORS 

shore  or  the  mountains  than  in  all 
the  year  besides.  I  dare  say.  But  I 
don't  exactly  see  my  way  to  going ; 
there  are  things  to  see  to  here,  and 
it  costs  something  even  at  the 
cheapest  places.  And  I've  got  a 
way  of  my  own  of  having  a  vaca 
tion.  I  don't  know  but  after  all  I'm 
lifted  and  broadened  and  strength 
ened  as  much,  and  get  as  many 
points  out  of  it,  as  the  rest  with  all 
their  travelling.  Maybe  you'll  smile 
when  I  tell  you  where  I  go,  and 
what  kind  of  a  place  it  is.  It's 
nothing  in  the  world  but  a  pasture 
with  a  rock  in  it. 

It  isn't  half  a  mile  from  my  house, 
though  I'm  right  in  the  busiest  part 
of  Factoryville,  you  know.  You  go 
down  to  the  bobbin-mill,  and  then 
along  north  as  far  as  Giles's  store ; 


AUNT  ABBT'S  PASTURE      165 

then  you  turn  to  the  left,  and  keep 
right  straight  ahead.  And  there 
'tis, — a  good  bit  of  pasture-land,  and 
a  big  bowlder  about  the  middle  of  it. 

I  came  upon  it  two  years  ago.  I 
hadn't  lived  here  long,  and  wasn't 
used  to  a  big,  bustling  town  like 
this ;  and  when  hot  weather  came  I 
did  just  ache  for  fresh  air  and  grow 
ing  things  and  woodsy  places. 

I  went  out  one  day,  and  walked 
and  walked,  trying  to  find  big  trees 
and  bushes  and  such  things.  By 
and  by  I  saw  something  green 
ahead,  and  'twas  this.  I  stopped  at 
the  rail  fence,  and  looked  over. 
Just  at  first  it  didn't  seem  very  in 
viting  when  I  thought  of  the  woods 
at  my  old  home,  all  dark  and  cool, 
with  soft,  wet  moss  for  your  feet  to 
step  on,  and  brooks  running  along ; 


166  AUNT  ABBY'S  NEIGHBORS 

and  I  says  to  myself,  but  out  loud, 
"  It's  nothing  in  the  world  but  a 
pasture  with  a  rock  in  it." 

Well,  do  you  know  I  hadn't  more 
than  spoke  those  words  than  I 
seemed  to  see  a  wonderful  meaning 
in  them.  I  forgot  all  about  the  heat 
and  the  dusty  road,  and  I  crawled 
through  the  rails  and  went  over  to 
the  bowlder  and  sat  down  on  the 
grass,  and  I  began  to  think. 
"Why,"  I  went  on  to  myself, 
"  what's  religion  when  you  think  of 
it,  or,  come  to  that,  what's  heaven 
itself,  any  more  than  that, — a  pas 
ture  with  a  rock  in  it  ?  "  I  began  to 
love  that  place  right  then  and  there. 
I  can't  tell  you  what  it's  been  to  me, 
and  all  the  thinking  and  help  and 
brand-new  light  I've  found  there. 
Points  for  sermons !  Why  it's  just 


AUNT  JBBT'S  PASTURE      167 

bristly  with  them.  I  find  a  fresh 
one  every  time  I  go,  and  I  haven't 
near  come  to  the  end  yet. 

Some  days  I'll  be  so  tired  I  can't 
do  a  mortal  thing  but  just  stretch 
myself  full  length  out  on  the  grass 
and  keep  still,  and  then'll  come  into 
my  head  that  verse  out  of  mother's 
favorite  psalm — I  guess  'twas  your 
mother's  too,  'tis  most  folks's  moth 
er's — about  "  He  maketh  me  to  lie 
down  in  green  pastures."  Deary 
me !  I  don't  want  a  better  sermon ; 
and  again  I'll  get  to  looking  at  the 
grass.  There's  red-top,  and  timothy, 
and  a  little  herd's  grass  there,  and  it 
looks  so  pretty  shaking  in  the  wind. 
And  I  recollect  how  our  Lord  took 
notice  of  all  such  little  things.  "  If 
God  so  clothe  the  grass  of  the  field," 
you  know ;  and,  before  I  know  it, 


168  AUNT  ABBY'S  NEIGHBORS 

that's  led  me  off  into  the  most  com 
forting,  beautiful  thinking. 

And  then  there's  the  rock ;  I  can't 
hardly  talk  much  about  that,  but 
you  know  what  I  mean.  "  Green 
fields  beyond  the  swelling  flood,"  as 
mother  used  to  sing,  is  all  sightly 
and  beautiful ;  but,  after  all,  it's  the 
Rock  up  there  that's  such  a  thing  to 
lean  on  and  look  to.  And  down 
here  in  this  world,  too,  lying  down 
in  green  pastures  and  watching  the 
grass,  is  nice  and  comforting  in  fair 
days ;  but  come  to  storms  and  rough 
weather,  a  rock  is  what  we  want 
the  most  after  all. 

I  believe  I  get  more  points  out  of 
that  bowlder  than  I  do  out  of  the 
pasture.  In  a  hot  afternoon  I  get  on 
the  east  side  of  it  in  the  shade,  and 
then  I  think  of  the  "  man  that  shall 


AUNT  ABBT'S  PASTURE      169 

be  the  shadow  of  a  great  rock  in 
a  weary  land."  Sometimes  there 
comes  up  a  storm  with  such  pouring 
rain,  and  I  creep  under  the  lee  of 
that  bowlder,  and  keep  safe  and  dry. 
And  then  I'm  sure  to  get  thinking 
of  the  "  strong  rock  for  a  house  of 
defense,"  and  of  father's  hymn, 

"  Hock  of  ages,  cleft  for  me, 
Let  me  hide  myself  in  thee." 

Sometimes  it's  Moses  hiding  away 
in  the  rock  to  watch  the  Lord  pass 
by ;  again  it's  the  rod  bringing 
water  out  of  the  rock ;  and  lots  of 
times  it's  about  that  tomb  hewn  out 
of  a  rock,  that  new  sepulchre  in  a 
garden  wherein  was  never  man  yet 
laid.  Or  by  spells  I  think  of  David 
keeping  his  father's  sheep,  and  lead 
ing  them  out  in  the  pastures ;  or 
Isaac  going  out  into  the  fields  at 


170  AUNT  ABBT'S  NEIGHBORS 

eventide,  and  that  beautiful  story  of 
the  shepherds  abiding  in  the  fields 
around  Bethlehem. 

But  after  all,  I  come  back  most 
times  to  the  thing  itself,  just  as  it 
struck  me  the  first  time  I  ever  saw 
it, — a  pasture  with  a  rock  in  it.  So 
I  don't  go  away  in  warm  weather, 
and  I  never  expect  to  now.  •  For  I'm 
getting  on  in  years,  and  there's 
plenty  of  things  in  my  own  little 
watering-place  here  to  last  as  long  as 
I  shall  for  points  to  think  about,  and 
for  strengthening  and  lifting  and 
widening.  It  won't  be  long,  at  the 
most,  before  I  go  away  for  good 
some  summer.  I  shall  be  satisfied 
when  I  wake  up  there ;  but  I  can't 
help  hoping  the  place  will  be  a  little 
like  a  pasture,  and  I'm  certain  sure 
there'll  be  a  Rock  in  it. 


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Slosson,  A.T.  S2 

Aunt  Abby's  neighbors.  A9 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
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